Penumbra
by The.Guiding.Star
Summary: "He sounds...different. What happened?" "I'd...rather not say." "Why not?" "It's not a pleasant story." "Tell me anyway." "It's about two bots...two bots that, without knowing, changed many, and cast a shadow upon the moons." PerceptorxMoonracer TFA Universe.  A very special THANK YOU to Lecidre for the cover art!
1. Initium

To all readers of this fiction, particularly the wonderful Lecidre:

Finally. At long lost. It is born. The fanfiction I've been dreaming of for about half a year now.

It is only the beginning. The genesis of a bright new star. I have helped to give it life. And while it is not the most perfect thing, nothing in this life is truly perfect.

At long last. I can breathe and sleep after countless late nights revising this thing.

I shall return with another chapter and much more coherent thoughts when my mind clears and life lifts it's hold upon me.

Until then,

with Aloha

~Zella

* * *

><p><em>Space.<em>

_Dark space filled with the little sputter of light of faraway stars, and the nebulous, colorful forms of other galaxies orns away from me._

_"Hello?", I call out._

_Am I dreaming? Perhaps. Large cages do not simply just exist in free space. I see this large cage in the midst of this space. And only that._

_There's a large…creature…trapped in the cage. For the time being, it does not seem to have a visible faceplate. Or landing pads. Or servos. Nothing to indicate its frame, or shape, or even species. Just dark brown and blue aerodynamically-shaped plates on the creature. The texture of the plates reveals small burrs, like the surface is made of thousands upon thousands of flexible wires. Almost like the hide of some organic creatures, particularly those with the ability of flight._

_"Perceptor?"_

_Is that-could it be?_

_In the starry blackness, seemingly out of nowhere, a familiar Cybertronian floats towards me, ethereal and graceful, an unknown light shining off of her malachite-green plating. A moon in crescent form composes her smile, and two rigel stars glimmer in her optics. And yet, her support servos are wide open to me, an invitation to place myself close to her._

_"Moonracer?...is that really you?"_

_She gives a quick nod. "Come and see."_

_One landing pad in front of the other, even though I am not walking upon a tangible surface. Closer and closer to her, all the while she waits with open support servos until I am standing at a point where our landing pads touch. She embraces me fully._

_I find myself pushing her away._

_"Perceptor?-"_

_"I thought you wanted nothing to do with me. I thought you hated me. Which you did. Which you still-"_

_Moonracer places a digit against my vocal labi. "Shh. You and I are friends, and friends forgive one another."_

_"Do friends lie to one another?"_

_"You meant well-"_

_"-About other bots? About hurting other bots? About violating their freedoms?"_

_"You only wanted to keep me safe."_

_"That was not the way to do so."_

_Oddly, she smiles and cheekily pushes a digit against my forehead._

_"You know that now. Better late than never, I say. And that applies to a lot more than you know, Scientist."_

_Then she takes my servo and rests it against her chassis, where her spark would be._

_"If it helps any, I forgive you, Percy."_

_She forgives me. Moonracer, apprentice to Chromia, sharpshooter, and a scientist in her own right, forgives me. My best friend, even closer than my work, the Autobot cause, even more than Wheeljack, forgives me. Unconditionally. And still thinks fondly of me. And she finally called me Percy._

_Not resorting to Scientist. Not Perceptor. Percy, as if…as if there was no Great War, no black funds, no separation, as if all was well._

_Her rigel optics look up at me, and I can only think, "Hormones, chemicals, regardless of why I feel these things, she is no longer just a friend to me."_

_I can feel her tense, then relax, in my support servos when I hold her close._

_"And if it helps any, I understand and forgive any of your transgressions against me. We are much, much more than friends."_

_The brightest of her moonlit smiles appears, but a loud, intrusive sound captures our attention._

_The creature in the cage…is no longer in the cage. It does seem to have taken the form of various organic creatures capable of flight, with long claws on two landing pads, and wide open wings like that of a Decepticon. Dark brown and blue plates float in midair, and I faintly remember what the plates are called: feathers._

_It flies up, zips through space through some untold force, and quickly flies in our direction. Moonracer, seeing that it's obviously targeting me, pushes me down, and the creature grabs her in its talons with astounding strength. In one swift motion, it flies to the suspended cage, throws her in, and closes the cage shut._

_"Perceptor!"_

_"Moonracer!"_

_I run to the creature with the intent to at least get Moonracer free, but it quickly pins me to some sort of flat surface with one clawed landing pad. The other one is raised high above its head, claws pointed to me. Through the adrenalin pounding through my wiring, the feathers on the creature's head part to show me some kind of faceplate._

_The faceplate-the faceplate is that of Chromia Minor, Moonracer's mentor. If Moonracer's optics glimmered, Chromia's optics blaze with fury. Chromia's vocal receptor opens, but she speaks with more than one voice. All voices say the same thing:_

_"DON'T YOU DARE TOUCH HER."_

_The claws come down in a blur, slashing open my chassis pillar, and I find my energon splattered upon its landing pad, wiring and chips and a distinct bundle of wires hanging off one claw like a swinging bulb._  
><em>The brightly-colored substance flies everywhere, but I can only feebly reach for her, who is being whisked away by an angry morphed Chromia. Away from me. Moonracer's reaching for me, but I can't get to her!<em>

_"Perceptor!"_

_I can only float away helplessly, slowly fading into stasis lock, but with energon clogging my vocal tubing, I cry out even if no bot can hear me, even if no bot sees my servos reaching for my Moonracer, even as I slip into my own darkness._

_"MOONRACER!"_

…

** Initium **

or

A story of love, the whisper of a secret, a concerned scientist, an explanation, and the beginning.

**{Sometime after the Great War of the Factions, an orbital cycle after the departure of Chromia's ship the Quintessa}  
><strong>  
>[Perceptor's Laboratories]<p>

"Perceptor? Dear Primus, please, recharge."

No answer from the other side of the door.

"Perce? I think I can still hear your landing pads hitting the floor. Please, recharge. Before I barge in myself and stick a tranq dart in you….or something!"

Nothing.

Frag. Even when I really am trying not to, I underestimate Percy's depression. But I won't leave my partner's side when he really needs somebot, even if he doesn't know it. I'll just-I'll just count the little shelves in the walls surrounding the door to his private room, count the dark green and pewter tiles on the floor! I will not leave until that tapping sound stops. It's probably Percy pacing in his room, moping around. Charging himself to absolute malfunction, no doubt. At least…I hope not. All that high-grade is not good for him. That's all I've seen him pick up and consume, actually. Just charge and mope. Like the last couple of solar cycles.

Poor fellow. Poor Perceptor.

I really shouldn't, though. Just sit my bulky aft here and feel all sorry for him and let my partner slowly rust into pieces because I'm too scared to break down the fragging door. I could. Just a good kick. Or use the blow torch-maybe not, considering that last incident with the liquid plutonium. I have an explosive touch-literally! All I need to do is put one servo against the door , wait a little, then BAM!, open door, and I can finally see what Perce's been up to.

Or maybe not. I don't think I'll like what I see.

Well, slag. All I can do is just sit against the closed door and wait for something to happen.

Something to happen, peh. There's a war howling outside of this protected, insulated cage, a war on the brink of ending, a war that could determine the preservation or destruction of everything good and right, everything we Autobots fight for-

-and I'm sitting here, wondering what the Pit is going on with one bot, doing nothing. Just sitting my bulky aft on my partner's door, not doing a fraggin' thing.

What happened to him? To make him act this way? At least that's what Red Alert has been asking me for the last couple of solar cycles. She really does not need to know.

Maybe that's why she joined Rodimus whats-his-faceplates. She probably got fed up with what's been happening for the last orbital cycle or so. She mentioned Percy….lashing out at her once. She did save his life; he must have said or done something pretty awful for Red to up and leave.

It's out of a broken spark, that's all. Sorry, Red.

I run a servo over my blue audio receptors.

Maybe Moonie would've known how to handle this.

Yeah, Moonracer, she knew how to handle emotional bots. Or at least Perceptor.

Ah, memories. She and Perce laughing over something as they piece me back together, after an explosion involving a shock cannon, several lasers, some high-grade, neutronic detonating putty, and a message drawn in the darkness of space:

YOU ARE AWESOME, RED! :D

To celebrate Red Alert's award for discovering a little doohickey that alleviated Gold Plastic Syndrome.

Whatever happened, whatever funds we lost-totally worth it.

A feeling of sadness settled into my wiring like cooled energon. Why were things so easy back then? A war had just broke out within Cybertroniankind. Things like bots such as Perceptor and Moonracer being friends just didn't happen. He was cold logic, she was warm spark-friendships like that didn't last under the unforgiving, foreboding servo of war.

That friendship should've crumbled, but it didn't. For the first time in a long time, Perceptor was opening up to another bot that wasn't me. And not out of the logic that he ought to know his assistant better.

Love changes everything.

So did hate.

And she learned to hate him. Or if that wasn't the case…..he hated himself.

I….I honestly don't know what happened. All I know is that it was enough for her to run away from him.

Moonracer saw Perceptor one last time.

When he was in stasis, recovering from losing his voice box.

_"You're leaving? In the middle of this war? When we need all the soldiers we can?"_

Tears.

_"Not just me, and it's not because of Perceptor. The both of you can help whatever soldiers we have with your projects. And believe me, there's a lot of projects going into getting the Autobots the upper hand. You can ask Perceptor here when he wakes up."_

_"I….I don't understand."_

Her support servos around his lithe, weakened frame. Embracing him, almost carving herself into his finish.

_"There-there's plans that my femmes and I will carry out, to do our part in ending this war-"_

_"But-"_

_"-and we must find Elita-1, but we must do it alone."_

_"-you and your femmes-"_

_"This is all my fault, and I must leave on a good end."_

_"-RUNNING FROM BATTLE! That's what you'll be doing if you leave! We're so close to ending this orns-long War, and your team wants to leave to go find a bot that could be offline?"_

_"Yes, Wheeljack! She **is **an Autobot, one of us, and, like you said, we need all the soldiers we can get. Because you know what Autobots like my girls and I will be doing if we stay?"_

_"No….I don't."_

_"Deserting a future leader! An Autobot! And….a friend. My girls and I can only help win this war when fellow Autobots aren't turned against each other, busy trying to keep bots like Chromia in prison, Firestar in the sanatorium, or me in the dark. I'm truly sorry-"_

An apology to me.

_"-but I'm tired of being the naïve little femme that needs to be lied to because I can't_ **handle the truth**."

And to Perceptor.

With tears spilling over her cheek plates, her final words were whispered in his audio receptor. I wanted to tell her so badly, that Perceptor was unconscious and couldn't hear her, much less remember her words. I didn't have the spark to, though, just let her be.

Then, true to her name, she raced out of that recuperation ward, and it felt like a light had been snuffed out.

She was gone.

And when Perceptor recovered and he found out, at first….he worked. Finished the projects as usual. When through a regular work schedule as usual.  
>When he didn't work, he simply made his way through his labs. Through the Guild. Up the Trion Spire, the tallest building of the Guild, and just looked out into the inky darkness of space.<p>

How do I know? Instead of following him up the Spire, I just went outside.

The Spire was the unofficial quiet spot for many of the scientists at the Guild. It seemed to be Percy's favorite spot to just think when the War and the projects and the rest of the Council exhaling down his chassis pillar was too much. But when I used my vision to squint and try to see him in any of the open windows, I found him and he appeared to be….screaming. But I just knew no noise was formed.

His voice box was gone. Maybe that was a good thing, that no one heard him and would think he was being nabbed by Deceptions or something.  
>A missing voice box is one of the hardest Cybertronian parts to replace, and it has to be exactly like the original or it's just no good.<p>

He lost his….somehow. An explosion or something caused by that blackout an orbital cycle ago. He said that, but I don't know. All I know is even worse than the sight of his vocal receptor so wide open it resembled a black hole in his faraway faceplates, and his servos curled into the tiniest fists, and the expression of his silent screaming-was a sight of him not screaming. Just him looking into his servos.

That wouldn't have been so bad, but then I saw it up close, while in his private laboratories.

One solar cycle, just sitting in a corner and not seeing me. Staring hollowly into his servos, his digits separated and shaking. That's all he did at first; just this darkness hanging over him. Science no longer had the same satisfactory effect on him. I nearly mistook him for another bot, but that was probably because his yellow visor was gone and he no longer appeared healthy. Grayer than usual, his optics dimmed so that they were just noticeable in the shadows of his lab. Just a cube of high-grade in one servo, while he rested his support servos on his kneecaps, leaned against a wall, ran his other servo over his faceplates.

I tried to help him. But it appears…it appears half of whatever I touch blows up.

Including other bots.

We continued related work for Project Omega in our designated space, and one solar cycle Percy lost it. All I did was comfortingly pat him on the shoulderpad when, during a break, he gently touched Moonracer's old-his new-visor, and all that self-hate, all that sorrow, all that shame and guilt and agony flew out at me in a torrent. His new emotionless voice, while it made him seem more tranquil than furious, did nothing to hide the pain in every sentence.

"STOP IT, WHEELJACK! PLEASE, JUST PLEASE, PRIMUS, STOP IT! STOP LOOKING AT ME WITH SYMPATHY AND UNDERSTANDING! STOP TREATING ME WITH RESPECT AND PATTING ME ON SHOULDERPADS AND JUST TOUCHING ME! I DON'T DESERVE IT! I DON'T DESERVE A FRAGGING BIT! RED ALERT WASN'T SO KIND, AND NEITHER WOULD YOU IF YOU KNEW WHAT I HAD DONE AND JUST HOW AWFUL IT WAS SO FRAGGING AWFUL THAT WHEN MOONRACER FOUND OUT SHE DIDN'T COME TO WORK AND RAN AWAY AND I WOULDN'T BLAME HER BECAUSE IT WAS COMPLETELY MY FAULT SHE'S GONE GONE GONE FOREVER AND SHE'S NEVER COMING BACK I RUINED THE BENEVOLENT NATURE OF SCIENCE JUST TO SATISFY THE COUNCIL AND HELP WIN THIS WAR AND YOU STILL WANT TO EMBRACE ME AND BE MY PARTNER AND TELL ME EVERYTHING WILL BE ALRIGHT? I COULDN'T TELL THEM IT WAS WRONG, COULDN'T FIGHT IT, HAD TO DO IT ALL AND I'VE LOST WHAT I'VE TRIED TO HOLD ONTO ANYWAY! ALL IN THE NAME OF PEACE AND SCIENCE AND THE AUTOBOT CAUSE!"

The stunned silence that followed was only a klik, but it felt like orns, like an entire lifetime.

"…...is this….is this because of anything Red told you? Me? The Council? …..Moonracer?"

With every name, his head dipped lower and lower. But his optics painfully closed upon hearing Moonracer's name.

"What….what did she say?"

A shake of his head.

"What happened between the both of you?"

"…I'd….I'd rather not…"

It seemed all sentient life potentially followed a painful line. Negativity breeds more negativity, violence begets more violence, hatred protoforms more hatred, hurtful words spark more hurtful words; all endless cycles that do nothing but destroy.  
>I slowly began to understand what was happening. From the Council pushing Percy, to Percy taking it out on Red Alert, affecting Moonracer, who reprimanded him, and causing him to take it out on me.<p>

A cycle of hurt. A self-fulfilling prophecy sometimes.

And then….what happens now. Him taking parts and plans into his private labs, locking himself up, me leaving energon at his door, and him only barely taking it.

All of that-Moonracer's tears, begging Red Alert to help Perceptor, his agony I hope to Primus no other bot saw-I remember it all too well.

_I forgive you. I-I hope you know that._

_Fine. I will help him just this once._

_Thank you, Red. Thank you._

_I am an Autobot._

_Scientist._

_**Monster****.**_

No, Percy. Not that. Not you.

Primus help me. The flashbacks are so bad, I'm starting to heat up.

Wait.

Heat up? Physically?

And since when had I been surrounded by smoke?

I quickly got up and looked around.

It was coming from Percy's laboratories.

By some stroke of luck, I broke in.

But when the smoke clears, I wish I didn't.

There, belted in and hooked up to a machine I had fixed up the other solar cycle, is Perceptor. There's a mask holding his head in a brace, and wires are attached here and there. His head is open, exposing his processor. He….isn't moving. And he's almost, completely, gray.

Primus, no.

He's not offline. Not gone. Not yet.

Unlatching the restraints and cuffs keeping him to the flat table surface, removing the wires hooked up to him, and gently moving his head out of the brace it was in, I check his processor for any permanent damage. Because if there is any, there's no Red Alert to help us.

What the Pit had he locked himself into? I really should've thoroughly checked this crazy bundle of wires and parts and makeshift berth before.

The frontal lobe of his processor suffered a little mutilation, not including the wire stuck into it in the first place, and thank Primus, the damage was not to anything important. As long as he is still alive.

"Percy? Percy! Cybertron to Perceptor, c'mon! Up and at it, Scientist!"

I set him down on the makeshift berth of the machine and run to get a cube of low-grade. The thoughts just rush through my processor: simple mistake self-conducted experiments go bad all the time he maybe tripped and fell into the berth and it automatically trapped him in or maybe this thingy is harmless I hope so thank Primus he's even offline he could be suicidal OH DEAR PRIMUS HE COULD BE SUICIDAL-

"Stop it, 'Jack", I whisper to myself. "Be calm, and he'll be alright."

Propping him up and putting the cube to his vocal receptor, I shake the energon a little to get it down his pipes.

Please, Primus, let him be okay.

A cycle or so later, and he comes back online with a loud groan.

"Wh—Wheeljack?"

"Percy? Thank Primus!"

"Wh—what happened?"

"Long story, but Percy, don't ever do that again. You've got to tell me if you're intending to pull a stunt like this. Look, trying to offline yourself is not exactly the best method to…well, anything….and I know things didn't go well with Moonracer, but don't worry, she'll-"

"-who is Moonracer?"

All molecular movement freezes. All atoms grind to a standstill. Even time seems to be careening to a screeching halt.

"Wh—what are you talking about? Moonracer? You know, your best friend…."

"….No. I have collegues, benefactors, and Councilbots, but best friend…..?"

"Sharpshooter. Y'know, cheery and a little timid, a yellow disk in the middle of her forehead like you?..."

"Who is Moonracer?", a now confused Perceptor questions, more firmly. Something is wrong. I question him-surely this is a joke of some sort.

"Who is Chromia and what does she look like?"

"An Autobot, right? And…..you know, I'm not too sure…."

"…um, Botanica! You've met her, right?"

"Who?"

"Eh, never mind. Oh! What did Red Alert recently discover that called for a big celebration right here in our labs?"

"Celebration? As in, a hedonistic sort, involving high-grade, colored lights, and dancing? I believe all of that is not allowed in any section of the Guild Sciencius."

"Er…Alpha Trion had us begin a project that would help end the war! Involving mostly Highbrow, Mainframe, and Ultra Magnus! What is it codenamed?"

"We started a project? Mainframe and I haven't worked on anything together yet…."

"You….honestly have no idea."

A blank stare.

"About…anything?"

"I am oddly interested in knowing what I have to do with this 'Moonracer' bot, whose name you've placed unusual emphasis upon."

Oh slag.

One landing pad in front of the other brings me to the wreckage of Percy's device. I peek inside.

Nothing. Dear Primus. This horrible tangle of parts and wires sucked up all of his memories. JaAmmit!

Then I suddenly remember something. After his outburst. The deathly quiet after a long battle.

"Wheeljack, please go away. I don't want to feel any anger, or betrayal, or any other uncalled-for reactions towards you."

"Perce, it'll be okay. Besides, you can't help it. You can't escape your emotions."

Then his answer. The phrase that haunted me for almost a megacycle now. The reason I've stayed near him for this long, the reason I can feel nothing but hurt for him, the reason I stuck myself to his door every time he would lock himself in.

**"Maybe I can."**

I didn't think he'd follow through with such a thought. Not to this extent. But, really, I should've known. Percy's a bit of an extremist. I should've known.

Frag me.

I look back at him over one shoulder pad. A few quick strides bring me close to him. Close enough to slap him across the head. Now, I have some heavy servos, which is why some bots don't enjoy getting a back pat from me, much less a forceful slap. Percy is no exception.

"What was THAT?"

Even with that monotone voice, it only makes him seem more agitated.

"That, young Perceptor, is a slap to the head. This slap was meant to elicit emotion from you."

"Well, what was the reason for it, then? I still retain emotions, unless that is slowly being made unobvious to you, Inventor."

"Do you? Really?"

"I'm angry at you. I believe that is emotion."

"So….you can feel? Happy, sad, angry, surprise, fear, disgust, all six?"

"I am emotions number three and four right now, if that wasn't already made clear to you."

So he still has them. Good. But no memories. Not good.

I rush back to the machine, shining a large light upon its interior. Still the same broken parts and splintered, sparking wires.

Then I see something glint in the bright light. Something blue and flat and with five sides. It rests in a port of some kind, plugged in and blinking with a tiny green light. I pluck it out.

"Perce, can you still transform into a microscope?"

"Of course."

He folds down and over the periscope upon his left shoulderpad until he forms a microscope. Good, he hasn't forgotten that.

"Thank you for transforming so I wouldn't have to dig around for one, even though I slapped you."

I place the little blue thing underneath the lens and look in.

"What exactly are we looking at?"

"Not sure. Need to see up close."

Cyber-wiring in this little blue thing, with a storage chip in the far right-servo corner.

"What, exactly, would be in it should it be proven to be a storage disk?"

"No idea. Probably unimportant."

That is a slagging lie. I slip it into the little holder found in the back of my Autobot insignia and face him.

"I'll check it out later. How are you feeling?"

He transforms back into bot mode with ease.

"I feel...different. Not fearful, or surprised, or disgusted, or angry, and not really happy. Or sad."

That's…..that's good. That's really good. Hold on to that, Perceptor.

You haven't felt not sad for a while.

* * *

><p>Terminology:<p>

Servo(s) = hand(s)  
>Digit(s) (when referring to anatomy) = finger(s)<br>Voice Box = larynx, so called because it actually forms a cube shape  
>Chassis Pillar = neck<br>Support Servo(s) = arm(s)  
>Landing pad = foot<br>Optics = eyes, faceplates = faces, ya ya yahhhh.

Guild Sciencius = my name for the scientific HQ of Cybertron. Must revise that.

Will have next chapter after long nap, when I have a lot more time on my hands. Please ask questions if you have any.

Peace and Aloha,

~Zella


	2. Roundabout

_Mmph. Is that my frame creaking? I'm getting old._

_Chromia? Thank Primus._

_Firestar?_

_Correct, Fearless Leader._

_What, no sarcastic verbal hoohah?_

_Ah, I don't feel like it._

_What happened? I feel fragged…._

_….You tell me. You look like you barely escaped a pit full of Scraplets._

_…Your imagination is sick._

_Whatever. Regardless, I found it was your processor. It was acting up again._

_Again? But my headbrace is on-_

_-Doesn't ensure protection from damage. And the malfunction came from within. I think you might be having seizures._

_I don't trust your opinion too much, 'Star._

_Why? Because I'm an academic washout? You flatter me, Captain of the Quintessa._

_Not that._

_I know. I was third in my class at Protihex before I got kicked out, so stick it._

_Seizures? I'm an Autobot gunslinger inflicted with seizures. That's not going to be a help on the battlefield. Ugh, Primus hates me._

_Only while your processor is repairing itself. The seizures, I mean._

_Where are we?_

_On the Quintessa. We've successfully managed to egress Cybertronian airspace with no trouble._

_That quick? And you dragged me in?_

_On these very painful heel struts, ma'am._

_Fantastic job! And don't call me ma'am. Makes me feel as aged as old Kup._

_Whatever you say….ma'am._

_I will hit you._

_Oh, good to see you're up and running, Chromia._

_Thanks, Lancer. Help me get up, Firestar._

_I was right. You're old._

_*clang*_

_Ouch._

_I gave you every warning. Now, quick question: Is it just you and me, and the Cousins, on the Quintessa?_

_About that-_

_-Mia? MIA! You're online!_

_Moonracer? What're you d-?-oof!_

_Thank Primus you're okay thank Primus you're okay I was so worried-_

_-What are you doing on the ship?_

_Helping you with your mission, 'Mia._

_My mission? You left Cybertron?_

_Elita was my friend, too. C'mon, 'Mia. She was friend to all of us, so we owe it to her-_

_-You need to get off._

_…Wh-what?_

_Can't explain. Just-Lancer! Prepare an escape pod back to Cyberton._

_'Mia. 'MIA! Could you please tell us all what's happening?_

_What does it look like, Moonie? I'm sending you back. You need to be back on Cyberton._

_Chromia-_

_-Quiet, Firestar. To you, Moonracer: there, not here._

_What—why? Why not? Because it's dangerous? I ca-wha-this is-I'm a slagging sharpshooter, 'Mia! I can handle a little danger! I can handle living in the same space with five femmes for a very long time! I've done it on Cybertron. It will NOT be a problem here! And, believe me, I've got nothing to return to on that planet! Nothing's waiting for me there! NOTHING!_

_Moonracer-_

_-Stop shaking me!_

_-Then listen! You've got a future on Cybertron. Okay? There's no prison demanding you back in chains, no sanitorium crazy for you to be back in a padded cell, no laboratories wanting you back on an operating table, nothing like that. You can survive and contribute to the Autobot cause. Help end this war. Not throw it all away on a mission that could take the rest of our solar cycles!_

_I thought you said Elita was online!_

_She is! And I'm finding her!_

_And I'm helping you find her!_

_You should preserve your relationships with the bots you've got right now. The bots within a servo's reach._

_What's that supposed to mean? You gave up Ironhide!_

_I-oh, Primus, my head-_

_-I don't have anyone like that on Cybertron! Not anymore._

_Are you certain?_

_…You never talk like this, 'Mia. Is there something I should know?_

_You're answering my question with a question. That'll just raise more questions._

_….'Mia, please. Is there something I need to know?_

_There is someone. Waiting for you on Cybertron. A whole lot of bots are, really, but this one in particular. Waiting for you. Waiting to apologize._

_I'm done with Power-_

_-Not Powerglide. Your-Primus, agh, I'm seeing stars-your friend, that scientist…..Perceptor._

_…What about him? He's….he's in no position to apologize. He's in no state to do anything, really. He's been hurt. Because of me._

_No. Not you._

_Do you even know exactly what happened between us, 'Mia? I found out. He did….something horrible…but instead of trying to understand, you know what I did? I hurt his feelings, and he, in turn, probably hurt himself! …..IT WAS ALL MY FAULT! If I hadn't said-_

_-ME._

_-all those-wait….what?_

_Me….it was me, Moonracer._

_…I don't under-_

_I WAS THE ONE THAT DID THAT TO HIM._

_Did what?_

_…._

_Did what, 'Mia?_

_….._

_…._

_The silent treatment's not going to work, 'Mia!_

_…._

_Moonracer?_

_What?_

_That's not the silent treatment._

_….it's not?_

_Greenlight!_

_Yes, Lieutentant?..._

_I think she's having a seizure!..._

_What?..._

_Just get your things!..._

_'Mia? Tell me!_

_….Easy now…._

_Tell me what happened!_

_…we need to take her headbrace off…_

_Chromia! Talk to me!_

_Moonracer, stop! Get off!_

_I need to know!_

_Don't shake her!_

_CHROMIA, WHAT DID YOU DO?_

* * *

><p><strong>Roundabout<strong>

or

_A story of a queenly warrior, her trustworthy lieutenant, the travelers of a stolen warship, and coming home.  
><em>

_**{After the discovery of Optimus Prime's crew on Gaea, thirty kliks before the landing of the Quintessa}  
><strong>__  
><em>[Cybertronian airspace]

__  
>Against a backdrop of dark space in the <em>Quintessa<em>'s largest window, Chromia's cobalt blue finish gleams and gives her an ethereal aura, like Beta Magnus, the femme Magnus before Powered Convoy. With one servo resting on the gun at her piston, she surveys the surface of Cybertron with calm optics.

Cybertron. Our home. All five of us.

She appears so noble, but my spark aches for her. After a thousand stellar cycles, we are no closer to finding Elita-1 than we were when we left. So why are we returning?

"Well, for one, we need more supplies. We'll have to smuggle them from somewhere", she said to me one solar cycle.

"Second of all, if what we've picked up on several frequencies is true, Sentinel is now a Prime, and I want to know how the frag that happened. Third, if those frequencies are trustworthy, then Optimus is also online and back on Cybertron. And I have many questions for him."

"What do you intend to do?", I had asked in my usual sarcastic manner. "Bind Optimus to a chair and shock him with an energon prod until he breaks? Don't you smile at me like that, you crazed gunslinger….."

I had reason to worry. Chromia would probably do that. She would have no problem doing so.

She kicked Moonracer in the stabilizing servo once for nearly shooting somebot in the landing pad.

Punched Ironhide in the faceplates the first time he flirted with her.

Yanked Elita-1 by her kibble when the yellow femme told her she was dating Sentinel.

"No chairs, 'Star, I promise. The energon prod, however…"

I hold up a servo. "Stop it, 'Mia. No. We don't need to give the Autobots any more reason to throw you back in Trypticon. You are still Moonracer's mentor. And our leader. Act as such. Please. For all our sakes."

Her faceplates slip into a more somber look. I know that look. It is her serious look, the look of a trigger-happy femme molded by nearly a thousand stellar cycles of leadership and sparkache, of learning her lessons the hard way and being an example to the four of us. It is a look that says, "Worry not, I will not intentionally get any of you in trouble, and I will be Chromia Minor for all our sakes."

A clatter of light landing pads snap me out of my thoughts. Moonracer.

She runs into the main entrance chamber, her trademark sniper at her back. She stands at attention.

"One klik 'till landing, Captain", the minty-green femme declares.

One klik, and we'll set landing pad in a familiar place we haven't seen in a thousand stellar cycles. One klik, and we'll be reunited with the bots we left behind. One klik, and all our questions will be answered.

So I hope.

"I'll contact Cybertron Command, Chromia", I offer, setting my heel struts down.

"Don't bother. I already have. We'll be intercepted by a group of Autotroopers led by-", and here she let a wide smile grace her faceplates, "-Ironhide."

It's good to see her smile again. And if all goes well…..

Well…..

The last klik goes by in a blur. Moonracer and Lancer check the fuel, temperature, and pressure levels of the _Quintessa_. Greenlight prepares touchdown procedures. Chromia grabs hold of the ship's controls.

"Brace yourselves!" My final warning before I increase the magnetic field in the floors, trapping all five of us in place. Glad to be sitting down this time, I begin the countdown.

"Landing in 10…9…8….7….6…5….4…..3….2…1…..!"

The impact of our ship hitting the landing strip would've thrown us back enough to shatter the titanium-strong glass of the windows. Everyone shakes around a bit.

Except Chromia. With the most concentrated look I've ever seen on her faceplates, she simply rocks with the vibes of the landing and drives the ship to a gradual stop. She leans her entire frame on the controls after locking the ship and turning it offline.

Then she looks over at Moonracer, to her right, to my left.

"Admit it. Your old mentor ain't too bad as a pilot, hmm?"

And she laughs.

At first, I look at the Cousins and raise an optic ridge. The last time our fearless captain tried to pilot the ship, we nearly crashed and offlined on Archa Seven.

Then Moonracer smiles and giggles in response.

The sound is a reliving one. Considering how they were the first two hundred stellar cycles of our mission, and the moments that followed, and the hard lessons they learned from each other, to hear them laugh is like a box of sweet, sweet energon drops. Small and short-lived and seemingly insignificant, but it made all the difference.

And so, as the _Quintessa _fills with relieved sighs and laughter, I allow myself a chuckle and turn down the magnetic field.

"No. But I'll know who to blame if there's a large scratch on the surface of Iacon's docks."

The two femmes check their guns, then look at the rest of us.

"We're home, ladies. Who knows how long we'll be here, or when we go off on our mission again. Enjoy your time here, have a cube of high-grade, who knows? We deserve it after being off this planet for a thousand stellar cycles. Now-"

"OPEN THIS HATCH! COME OUT OF THE SHIP WITH YOUR SERVOS UP!"

The shuffling of what sounds like dozens of Autotroopers, and the loud, rude clanging on the side of the ship causes Moonracer to jump a little, causes Lancer to squeak, and causes Greenlight to close her optics tightly. Our captain's faceplates go from joyous to glowering in less than a nanoklik. Her servo immediately flies to her rifle, also strapped to her back.

"The frag-?"

"NOW! WE'LL GIVE YOU ONE KLIK TO COME OUT PEACEFULLY!"

"What's going on?" Moonracer's voice, though strong and level, coats a deep confusion and fear.

Greenlight's optics holoform calls our attention momentarily. In the pale light of her optic-holographs, we see Chromia's arrest about three orbital cycles before we last left Cybertron.

"They can't be here for you. That was so long ago. And you're innocent!", our sharpshooter practically shouts. Her mentor hushes her with a digit to her vocal labi.

This cannot be happening. In one move, I rip my battle chain-axe off my back, stride to the hatch controls, and crank the entrance open.

"What are you doing, Lieutentant?", Greenlight whispers.

"Prepare for battle, girls. Especially you, Chromia. Time to hone your improvisation skills", I mutter as the hatch creaks open.

"And if we offline because of my horrible improvisation skills, Firestar, I blame you."

"That sounds fair", I counter as the hatch opens and the sounds of my teammates setting our weapons smatter my audio receptors. I expect battle cries. The cacophony of rifles being aimed at us. The five of us fighting to the death.

What happens: Our leader lowering her rifle.

Because, standing before us, is the last thing any of us expect.

Sentinel Minor. With Elite Guard chevrons to his Autobot insignia.

"Where's Ironhide, you planet-chined jerk? Mainframe said _he'd _be the one to come welcome us."

"First of all, that insubordinate underling refused to be the one to arrest you, you escaped convict. And second of all, that's Sentinel **Magnus **to you and your deserter teammates. You, Chromia of Iacon, are wanted for hoarding of dangerous vagrants in an evicted structure, assault of about twenty Autotroopers, escaping Trypticon Prison before sentence was complete, and deserting battle during times of war. Firestar of Kalis, Moonracer of Tarn, Greenlight of Crystal City, and Lancer of Kalis; the four of you are wanted for cavorting with a dangerous armed convict, as well as deserting battle during times of war. I'm going to have to arrest you all."

A stunned silence follows this. A smug smile creeps onto his faceplates.

A strangled scream belts from Chromia's vocal receptor. I dare not look to clearly see her expression. Because the reason for her raw and unbridled reaction is clear.

We've returned home empty-servoed, without Elita-1.

We've returned to our home planet that considers us deserters.

We've returned to a Cyberton overseen by Sentinel, one of the most selfish, egoistical, hypocritical, shady, paranoid, basically screwed-up fraggers, and certainly not in the right state of mind to be leader over any Autobot, much less all the Autobot cause.

In essence….

We're being welcomed to the Pit.

Primus help us. 


	3. Coming To A Screeching Halt

_Hey Wheeljack._

_Yeah, Ironfist?_

_Well, not to seem like a, you know, prick, but Perceptor seems…different. Been that way ever since Moonracer left the Guild for the rescue mission._

_How'd you know about that?_

_I read, you know. I mean, I'm a writer…_

_…No, no. I mean, about Perceptor being…different._

_Well, actually, there are a couple times he seemed just like this. After that little argument with Red Alert. After each talk he has with Alpha Trion and the rest of the Council. After working on Project Omega, or something like that. After his 'classified' projects. You've never noticed?_

_What I notice may be different from what you notice, Ironfist. What do you notice?_

_…That look, like...a piece of his spark was ripped out. And the only reason he isn't offline yet is because he's using some sort of device to keep himself online. Not big pieces, mind you. Just, microscopic ones. Little ones. Small enough to keep him alive, but big enough to cut him inside. Almost like his soul is being sucked out increment by increment._

_Kinda….poetic, your thinking._

_I am a writer, you know. Not just Wrecker stuff, though they are pretty awesome._

_Let me…let me tell you a story, hmm? Just between you and me._

_Ooh, that sounds great. As long as you don't blow up midsentence._

_Alright, let's take a break. Or maybe not. Let's keep working? I don't know. This isn't a happy story. It may explain, a little better, why Percy feels the way he does._

_Is the story about Percy?_

_…Not necessarily. Again, not a pleasant story. I'd rather not...this was a stupid idea…_

_….Please, Wheeljack. Tell me anyway._

_It's about two bots. Two bots that, without knowing, changed many, and cast a shadow upon the moons._

_I like this story already._

_So far, so good._  
><em>Well, there was this mech. Not the most physically impressive, but his processor was…oh, I kid you not, he was a slagging genius. Solved equations in a klik, knew every little bit of quantum physics, could piece together a gun from scraps, could recite the elemental tables and knew what could make what, even created a cure for a horrible disease that ate away at a bots' finish and turned it to wretched rust without chronologic or liquid wear. Did calculus and biologic taxonomies for fun.<em>

_And there was this femme. Now, she was probably the most good-looking femme most mechs saw. Petite, lean, softer shapes than a bot like, say, Red Alert. She caught the optics of a lot of mechs, including, yes, this particular mech. And she was smart. She knew more about guns than he did. And social situations. And how the processor of a femme worked, which, of course, he didn't know. But she liked having conversations and building relationships by going out, whereas he was content to stay holed up in his spaces._

_Now, under normal circumstances, these two very different bots would have never met. But fate…fate is a funny thing, my apprentice, and, well, turns out that this femme needed a job. And this mech, being head of his line of work, was a pretty good 'target' for her._  
><em>At first, he resisted, saying she wasn't qualified enough, not enough experience, didn't need the extra help anyway. But then one of his co-workers left for other things, and well, sitting there was this big bulky job opening she just so happened to fill.<em>  
><em>See, the way she had been going around with asking him for the job, she was persistent. Would voluntarily clean his workspace. Keep him fueled. Would do this every morning, practically camping outside of his offices and such, until he was driven crazy enough to give her the job because of her persistence.<em>

_So, yeah, they worked together, due in part to the very clever partner of the mech. At first there was clashing, because she was warm emotion, and he was cold logic, and supposedly, those two things never mixed. His realism made her sad. Her idealism drove him mad._

_But soon, he got used to her. Or rather, he came to like her. He came to like her cheeriness and curiosity. She came to like his never-ending facts and his patience when she didn't do certain things right. They both liked their meaningful conversations they had. They began entrusting secrets with one another, and everything was good. And they became the best of friends._

_Until the war._

_They were on the same faction, but had differentiating views. And well, the femme wasn't just an assistant. She was a warrior as well, and that side of her life kept her outside for most of the time, leaving the mech alone. Which was not a good idea. Because the mech was dealing with inner turmoils, and he needed her more than ever. The war was beginning to have its affect on him, and everything took a turn when their authorities demanded he make a weapon of mass destruction._

_The femme did not like this. They fought. They argued. She left him for a while, to reunite with her warrior sisters and plan a rescue mission. And in his loneliness, and the pressure of the war, well…._

_…well, what? C'mon,Wheeljack._

_No one but him knows how it happened, but a terrible accident robbed him of his voice. And his consciousness. The femme heard the news and came back to visit the mech. He was now in the care of healers and his very worried partner. He could not speak to her. Could not say what was on his spark. And oh, how his spark broke when she told his partner she was leaving. Leaving on a mission to find a long-lost sister that could help turn the tide of the war. And she did not know when she was coming back. She didn't want to leave him, but was forced to do so by her warrior mentor. She embraced him one last time, whispered her final words to him, and left, taking her uplifting spirit with her. The moons were new when she was forced to leave him._

_And the mech?_

_Never truly came back online from his stasis. Even as his processor still cranks out ideas, even as energon flows through his frame, he still waits for her. Not like one waits for a sibling, or a twin, or a dear friend, but a sparkmate. Never consuming by his own will. Never recharging by his own will. Just waiting for her. Waiting for the solar cycle when the moons are new, and her rigel optics and crescent moon smile will stand out in the darkness._

_It sounds like you almost like this femme._

_For no reason other than that she was a good femme, and that she made the mech happy._

_And the story. Is that the end?_

_Ah, and here's where I explain why I love this story so very much. Because the story has not ended. It has only begun. Everything else to yet to happen._

_Really?_

_Oh, yeah._

_And how…how do you know of this story? How does it relate to Perceptor's behavior?_

_Well…where I get my stories…you'll find out one solar cycle. And how it relates to Perceptor? Perce knows this bot very, very well. Walked servo-in-servo with this bot, you could say, and was his only companion when the femme was gone._

_Do I know this mech?_

_A lot of bots think they do. They don't. They only know one facet of the story._

_Maybe because it's got such a sad beginning. Most bots I know don't really like depressing things, though_

_But who's to say it won't have a happy ending to balance things out?_

_I really hope so._

_…So do I, Ironfist. So do I._

* * *

><p><strong> Coming To a Screeching Halt<br>**  
>or<p>

_ A story of irritated ninjas, a future leader, a weapon maker's assistance, a place of fond memories, and finding, despite all that, things have changed._

_**{Two cycles after the landing of the Quintessa}  
><strong>__  
><em>[Fortress Maximus]  
><em><br>_

"Stop pacing, Moonracer. She'll be fine."

I turn on the lithe orange and violet ninjabot. Lancer's been saying that in response to everything I say, for the last cycle or so.

"What sort of evidence do they have against her?"

"She'll be fine."

"It's been a thousand stellar cycles. She's done time. Suffered a traumatic head injury. Can't they leave her alone?"

"She'll be fine."

"I wonder if they're tortured her yet."

"She'll be fine."

"She might one of her seizures in there. What then?'

"She'll be fine."

"Is that all you can say to make things better?"

"It'll be fine. There, how's that?"

It's driving me mad.

"How can you be so sure? Chromia has the longest list of wrongs on Cybertron. Chromia's the one with a violent history, particularly with Sentinel. Chromia is the one who experienced seizures in the past. Chromia is in the most trouble, and you want me to LEAVE HER HERE AT THE MERCY OF BOTS WHO HATE HER?"

Greenlight, to the right of Lancer, just stares at me for a klik. Lancer, on the other servo, simply nods and proceeds to pull me out into the hallway.

"I was right. You need to get out. Go empty your processor and relax somewhere. Go meditate. Go fix some ships. Go get overcharged, I don't fragging know. Because, as much as I've been driving you crazy for the last half cycle, you've been doing the same to me."

"NO! I stay here for Chromia. She's my mentor, and I can't fathom-"

"Um, excuse me?"

I have half a processor to just whip around and yell, "What?"

Upon seeing an old acquaintance, I shut my vocal processor.

He looks different. Not the inexperienced, shy, mech-next-door dreamer I remember from the times I hung out with Elita-1 and met a lot of her friends. More heroic now. There's wisdom in his optics, and a little sadness. He holds himself like a leader, like a bot who's seen things and survived to tell the tale. The only reason I even recognize him is because of the red chassis and the headbrace.

"Oh, hi, Optimus. Did you need anything?"

"Yes, I'm trying to find where they're interrogating Chromia."

"Through those doors, though you'll need Elite Guard access for that."

"I'm aware. Thank you, Moonracer."

Just as he turns to walk up to the doors and go through them, he turns and gives me a quizzical look for a nanoklik.

"Couldn't help but notice your visor there."

Oh, yeah. My servo flies up to the blue visor on the top of my head. It's blue, with a somewhat pentagonal shape for each lens. I forgot I had it on the whole time.

"It reminds me of the one Elita-1 had."

Immediately, sadness blankets the space in the hallway. Optimus looks away.

"I-I'm sorry. It's just-"

I hold up a servo. "Don't worry. We've known that for a long time. And, yeah, the visors…back when they were a trend and such.'

Not really. The visors that many, MANY bots had were more than a trend back in that solar cycle, but….

"I like this pair because it's protected my optics from a lot, and it's stood the test of time."

"Well, not just Elita-1. The visor thing, I mean. Perceptor, one of the Council members, has a similarly-designed visor that he wears all the time, though it's yellow, not blue like yours. I don't why I noticed, but…..'

I don't hear the rest of his words.

Perceptor. If Optimus has seen it on him, it means one; Perceptor's online and well. Yay! Two; Perceptor's a Council member, which means that he's been able to work his way up enough, and now has influence over issues regarding the Autobots, which is great. Three; Perceptor is wearing my old visor, which means he remembers me, and has, hopefully, forgiven me for my….words….all those stellar cycles ago…...

"….Moonie? Moonie? Oh, MOONRACER!"

A dusky purple faceplate framed with orange is yelling at me, but I hardly register the true volume of her shouting.

"Where is Perceptor?", I practically demand.

Then clap my servo over my loud vocal receptor.

Bad Moonracer! How rude!

"…I mean, if you knew, that'd be great."

Optimus seems unfazed; rather, he points in the direction of the Guild Sciencus before the two large doors close shut on him.

I look at Lancer, who merely shrugs.

"I'll tell Fearless Leader where you went. …..oh, no, I'm becoming Firestar."

I transform into my alt-mode. To the Guild it is.

I…...feel so stupid for feeling like this, but all I can think about now is him. And the Guild. The laboratories we worked in. His private laboratories, where no one stepped in except the two of us. And Wheeljack, of course. Longsuffering, dear Wheeljack. And Red Alert and Ironfist and the rest of the Ministry of Science and our projects.

And our list of shared memories trumped Wheeljack's list of injuries.

Working on a batch of corrostop.

Piecing Wheeljack together after a giant explosion.

Reorganizing the chemicals and supplies and tools after said explosion.

Accidently zapping a large space squid, causing it to grow exponentially and nearly wipe out the labs.

Again.

Peeling Ironfist off a panel of near-invisible space glass. Then helping him get back at Skyfall, his nemesis.

The pyrotechnics displaying Red Alert's medical success and graduation from Protihex to all of Cybertron.

Gazing up at faraway stars and planets through Perceptor's periscope.

Just scribbling notes, and trying to organize them.

The Guild comes into view, and my spark fills with joy. The tall, majestic spires, overlaid with the impressive sculptures of rods and wires from the past. The Guild is built on a slope, and the front is the top. Everything else behind goes down. There's now a silvery arch, with the Autobot insignia carved in the top. I presume that arch is the doorway.

My sanctuary. Perceptor's sanctuary as well. The safe haven of all intellects. A cool, clean, and knowledge-filled place that pulsed with life and science. Before it was corrupted by the likes of Dr. Flame and all those horrible war experiments.

No. No, Moonracer, I tell myself. Things are different now, I'm sure. That was all a thousand stellar cycles ago.

Perceptor is a Council member, which means, by now, he fixed things. Did away with the underground experiments. Worked with other MoS bots to ensure ethical treatment of bots involved in experiments, that resources were sourced responsibly. Got rid of bots like Flame, that would so willingly hurt bots like Firestar.

Even….even if he didn't forgive me, he is not...not a monster.

He wouldn't let the Guild Sciencus fall from grace just to spite me. He would make things right in my absence.

I only hope I'm still allowed in the beautiful Guild. I really wish to see what's changed in the last couple of orns.

I stop at the bottom of the arch, transform back into bot mode, and look up. Taller than I thought.

My presumptions are correct. The arch is the entrance. But, oh no, a lockpad at the doors.

"Um, hello there, can I help you?"

"Maybe. Do you know how to get-Ironfist!"

"Moonracer?"

It's good to see a fellow science novice again! We exchange a brief shake of servos as he chuckles a little.

"It…I can't believe it…..I mean, it's good to see you again!"

"Same to you."

"I...oh, I suppose you want to come in?" He quickly punches in a few keys, followed by the slide of a code card.

The doors slide open with a hiss, and the interior bathes in blue light.

I step inside, step by step, relishing and revisiting the feeling of this sanctuary. It is just as I remember.

"Follow me, Moonracer. I know somebots who want to meet you."

Eagerly, I follow him. Past the dark gray tiles. And the triangular prism-shaped blue lights. And the walls with the little shelves carved into them. In the shelves rest little artifacts, or disassembled prototypes, or little models of ships or planes. The ceiling is high and imposing as ever, but I've always told myself…it's because the Guild is a living bot that needs as much space as possible to contain and maintain the knowledge of the scientists.

Memories are carved into the gray and white walls of the Guild. The objects to the side have changed, but the way to the labs remain the same.

"Wheeljack's off working with Bulkhead, a spacebridge genius, on who-knows-what, so he's not here right now. But he'll be back soon. Red Alert went off with Firestar-good to see she's okay, too. Mainframe and Alpha Trion went off on some private business-"

"-Interrogating my mentor."

His optics widen in surprise. "Huh?"

"They're having a private chat with Chromia in a locked cell."

"I….see….."

"A—and….Perceptor?"

"Percy? As you and Wheeljack used to call him? Here."

We walk up to a very familiar set of white sliding doors, where the keypad was not at the side of the door, but located in the round convex panel in the center of the doors. The large blue panel held the doors together, and when the doors were opened, it would disappear with the right door panel.

The metallurgist fiddles with the panel keys, and it opens with a hiss.

A rush of cold air meets my plating, and blows on me a great hesitation.

The shared laboratories are well-lit, and I see that we're on a balcony, with a bridge that connect one work station to another above ground level. The walls have been painted from their old, peeling dark red, to a calming midnight blue.

No wonder I didn't recognize it at first. Then I realize why remembering took me a while.

This was the area where Project Omega was carried out. Where Percy created the Supremes, before….

….it doesn't matter. There are no weapons of mass destruction being built here now. Perceptor kept his promise.

How could I think otherwise?

"I'll leave you to….I guess, check out some new renovations to the Guild. I brought you here because you have a history of getting lost, or so says 'Jack, so I thought you could use a guide."

"Thank you, Ironfist."

"Of course."

I intend to step in, but my landing pads won't move.

"…uh, Moonracer, you okay? You…..gonna go meet up with Perceptor and say hello?"

"…...wha—oh yes, thanks, Ironfist. Again."

I force my landing pads to move, and they bring me into the familiar 'Commons' Laboratories, as he and I called them.

Bigger than I remember, but still relatively the same. And empty. Startlingly empty.

_Clank. Clank. Clank._

Or not.

From the stairs coming from ground level, I see a bot I never thought I'd see again.

I almost feel like screaming my joy to the rest of the galaxy, but I control myself.

The same red chassis, and black plating. The silver dials and the black headbrace. His pale green finish and drawn-in optics. And my visor….he's wearing my old yellow visor. He's taken good care of it.

Perceptor has not changed. And my spark is glad.

"Perceptor!"

He looks over at me. He looks a little surprised. Of course he is. He hasn't seen me in a thousand stellar cycles.

"I….I've come back. A little unexpected, but….it's really me….."

He slowly approaches me.

"It's been a while. It's good…to see you're healthy. How have you been?"

No answer. He is now within reach. I could hug him, but I know how sensitive he is about touch, and does not take physical contact lightly.

"I….um….I'm really sorry for everything that's happened to you. Please know that I am truly sorry-"

"It is not your fault."

His voice. That's not his voice. Perceptor's voice, though crisp and blunt, had a slight accent to it, one that sent heat to my faceplates whenever he whispered something secret to me, because the accent became heavier whenever he had to lower his volume.  
>This voice….was cold. Emotionless. Nothing but simply existing. Yet it felt like the weight of a planet was pressing on it.<p>

"What…happened to you, Percy? Your voice has changed."

"First of all, my voice is none of your concern. Second of all, how….do you know who I am, even using my partner's moniker for me?"

Is he serious?

"Percy? Is this all a joke? Acting like you don't know me. Your voice. Not responding to me well when I use your nickname. Look, if this is your way of getting back at me-"

"-Why would I desire to do that?"

"Because of what I said-what I caused-a thousand stellar cycles ago! Please don't act like you don't know!"

"I don't even know who you are."

And everything crashes. Falls. Comes to a screeching halt.

"…...What?"

"Was I not clear enough? I have no recall of who you are."

"Perceptor? It's me. Moonracer. Your best friend. You called me Moonie."

"No. I have no best friends. Just collegues and fellow Autobots. And a partner. No best friends. Who are you? How did you even get in here? These laboratories are for the Ministry of Science and all correlated workers. Why aren't you answering me? Is your vocal receptor locked? Why aren't your optics dilating? Are you ill?"

I….Percy….no….how did this happen…? No….no….no…..no….no…..

"Answer me, Miss, or I'll be forced to remove you from these laboratories."

I look up sharply. Into his optics. Nothing. No emotion. No memory. Not even an indication this is all intentional.

He doesn't remember? Why? How?

Horror fills me as the sound of my servo suddenly cracking across his faceplates fills the dark blue walls of the Commons.

Oh my Primus.

He grabs me by my wrists.

"I'm sorry, Miss Moonracer, if that is your name, but I'm afraid you'll have to leave."

No.

"Please comply, and this will cause minimal discomfort for the both of us."

No no no no no no no no no no no no n o nonononononononononono no no no

"You must leave."

"NO!"

Nothing. He throws me out, and the once familiar and benevolent doors nearly close shut on my right servo.

The servo that slapped him.

I slapped him. My best friend. Because he doesn't remember who I am.

The blue panel on the door glares down at me, like a singular blue optic. Accusing. Scolding. Mocking.

"_You're a horrible best friend."_

I almost want to retort with some smart-aft remark.

_'You're fortunate I don't have my sniper."_

Except my sniper won't help me now. Because of my transgressions in the past, it is now coming back to get me.

I bring my kneecaps to my chassis. Wrap my support servos around myself. Tuck my head into the empty space.

Fetal position. Crawl away from everything, curl up in the darkness, and just disappear. Just lay there and wait to rust away.

Because I didn't control my emotions, I lost my best friend.

Because of my words, I hurt someone I loved and cared for.

Because I put bots within my servo's reach out of reach, and willingly, I paid the price.

I still am.

No. No. NO.

WHAT HAVE I DONE?

...  
>...<p> 


	4. Equivalent Exchange

__  
>Greetings, my lovelies! <p>

My 20th Birthday was quite wonderful. I did have to work that day, but I got to go out for ice cream after…which was free! Since there wasn't a cake, ice cream had to do. And it was goooooood. 

But I digress….

Yes, the title of this chapter is inspired by the Alchemist's First Law, from "Fullmetal Alchemist"; In order to gain, something of equal or greater value must be lost. Equivalent Exchange. After all the depressing stuff that the first three chapters inspired, I decided to try my hand at something a little lighter. A little happier.

But, lo and behold, it still ends on a fairly gloomy note. 

Eh. Can't help it.

Oh! Don't know why it took me this long to put this to each of my chapters!

To help ease the process of trying to figure out….

Body parts (all approximate, and the anatomical chart I use for my stories):

Hands = Servos

Arms = Support Servos  
>Legs = Stabilizing Servos<br>Tongue = Glossa  
>Feet = Landing Pads<br>Shoulders and Knees = Shoulderpads and kneepads, respectively  
>Eyes = Optics<br>Fingers = Digits  
>Hips = Pistons<br>Lips = Vocal Labi  
>Mouth = Vocal Receptor<br>Ears = Audio Receptor  
>Neck = Chassis Pillar<p>

Torso/Chest = Chassis  
>Body = FrameShell  
>Brain = Processor<br>Sections of brain = Lobes 

And time (all approximate, and the chronological chart I use for my stories):

Any time less than a second = Microklik  
>Second = Nanoklik<br>Minute = Klik  
>8.3 Minutes = Breem<br>Hour = Cycle  
>6 Hours = Joor<br>Day (both day and night) = Solar Cycle  
>Week = Decacycle<br>Month = Orbital Cycle  
>6 MonthsHalf a Stellar Cycle = Orn  
>Year = Stellar Cycle<br>83 Years = Vorn  
>Approx. 100 years = Megacycle<p>

Hope this helps. Now, go on and enjoy the new chapter! 

~Ylysha

Preview picture courtesy of Lecidre.

Disclaimer: Transformers, and anything relate to it, is not mine. Neither is the pairing. I just ship it hard.  
><em><br>__

_"Get your aft back here."_

_The larger, hulking mech turned around to face my cobalt-blue protector. The prison area fell silent, and prisoners of all factions and all walks of life begun to form a square around the two. An arena. The bot that caused all the hubbub pushed me to the side._

_"Hey! The frag-?"  
><em> 

"_-I promised your mentor no harm would come to you while I'm here, Flareup. Besides", she murmured, glaring lead-tipped shots at the dingy gray-and-red mech that had fondled me and grabbed me by my thigh, "….this one is a slagger. I'll gladly take this one."_

_In the left corner was Beta, a hardened criminal, in for a theft felony as well as releasing dangerous organic creatures on a hapless Neutral colony of Cybertronians._

_And in the right….the recently disgraced Chromia Minor. At least to the rest of the Autobot cause. In for hoarding 'dangerous' vagrants in an evicted building, maiming of Autotroopers, refusal of arrest, and 'presumed' knowledge and contact with terrorists._

_Presumed my aft.  
><em> 

_I love Chromia. She's much like me. And, so far, she's kept her word to my mentor Firestar that I wouldn't be in any serious trouble while I was in Trypticon.  
><em> 

_So far._

_Beta was easily twice her size, but she looked at him with all the courage of Beta Magnus, the first femme Magnus and more deserving of the name, and cracked her servos with a tiny smile._

_"What? She your girlfriend?"  
><em> 

"_My responsibility, fragger. And, as far as girlfriends, NOT yours, so back off, and don't be touching any femmes the way you just did, or I'll rip off more than a part of your head."  
><em> 

"_Don't make me laugh."  
><em> 

"_Laugh? I will make you scream in complete agony."  
><em> 

"_Bring it, glitch."_

_Wrong choice of words, fragger. I barely contained my excitement when she used her fist to crush his faceplates in._

_"Kick his aft, 'Mia!"_

_She gave me one curt nod and a smile, then unleashed the Pit on him. Into his chassis. His optics. His stabilizing servos and kneecaps. His support servos._

_The shouting and hollering rose with my energon running. I saw, I felt, I heard bots around me cheering on Beta, cheering on Chromia, making bets and gambling things like energon cubes or servo-made bullets._

_A feeling of deep satisfaction settled in my frame when Chromia took a heavy chair and bashed it against his head, knocking him to the ground. Despite being smaller, she stood taller than a lot of bots think, which helped her a lot._

_He scrambled and, seeing me, grabbed me and used me as a shield. Except 'Mia won't hit me with the table she's just picked up, so he stood up and threw me into the crowd. There were lots of screams and the servos of strangers reaching out and brushing against my shell._

_The indigo-colored support servos of Beachcomber were the most effective in breaking my fall, and I was never more grateful to have him there than then._

_"Beachcomber?"_

_"Yep?"_

_"What-what in the Pit is going on now?"_

_"Ionno. You…..just have to get up now. I-"_

_The noise reached an all-time high. I looked over the crowd and saw that Beta, somehow, had managed to get Chromia down. I was suddenly afraid._

_She wasn't moving. Facedown, sprawled on the dirty prison floors, and energon gushing out of wounds on her frame._

_"'Mia!", I yelled, quickly looking around. I knew, at the least, all prison guards had a servo-held gun of some sort. I saw one, strapped to the piston of an unconscious guard. Finders keepers, losers weepers. I ran over, dodging bots cheering Beta as he began assaulting her with heavy kicks and punches. I pulled the gun off, then made my way to the end of the circle._

_"Chromia. Chromia! Get up!" I fit the gun into her servo just as other bots roughly pulled me out._

_"No helping, glitch!"_

_Had it not been for Beachcomber coming in, I may very well offlined the slaggers. He put a servo over my optics._

_"BC, what the Pit-?"_

_"He's got a chunk of a wall, Flare-'_

_I yanked his servo off._

_Just as Beta dropped the heavy slab onto Chromia, I saw the digits on her servo twitch; the servo I placed the gun in. Without looking backwards, she attempted to aim and shot him, catching him in the spark. He froze for a nanoklik, then fell backwards. The slab slipped from his digits._

_Then-it happened. It happened so fast it rendered the crowd speechless._

_Chromia, already too weak to move away quickly enough, let her support servo drop lifelessly. Beta had intended the slab to crush the upper part of her body._

_"Flareup, you gotta stay here!'_

_"-NO!"_

_**Squish.**_

_Aside from the gasp of shocked prisoners and the fainting of some pansies, the crowds go from screaming to silent in less than a klik. Beta was probably dying. As for Chromia…._

_"Somebot fragging do something!"_

_"…."_

_I didn't want him to see._

_I didn't want to see._

_But it happened._

_The slab ends up crushing everything from her chassis pillar upwards. Her throat cables, her audio receptors, her processor: scrap metal. Her faceplates are the only part of her head left intact. Everything else was flattened into an energon-covered mess. Her optics were empty and wide open, like every prison cell._

_I was the closest to her when the back of her head was crushed in. Her energon coated my faceplates and servos, and began falling off of me in little drops. So much. Too much. All for my sake._

_Primus, Chromia. I could've handled getting roughed up, and possibly molested. I never wanted this to happen._

_I promise I'll make it up to you. I swear._

_**Drip.  
><strong>_

_**Drip.  
><strong>_

_**Drip.**  
><em> 

_They never did thoroughly clean the floors, and, even now, her energon is dried in the cracks._

_

**Equivalent Exchange  
><strong>  
>or<p>

_A story of huge favors, sentimental value, sharing secrets, surprises, and a moment of comfort._

__  
><em><strong>{Sometime during the beginnings of the Great War of the Factions}<br>**__  
><em>[Perceptor's private laboratories]_  
><em>  
>It has been approximately three hundred and thirty-five stellar cycles since Moonracer was employed by the Ministry of Science as my assistant. And with Wheeljack mentoring Ironfist and Red Alert working on her degree from Protihex, Moonracer has been a valuable help.<p>

In that short amount of time, she has managed to turn from a troublesome femme in need of employment, to a close friend and collegue.

How, exactly?

I cannot pinpoint exactly, but I presume her experience in social situations I am not comfortable in, coupled by her generally cheerful disposition and liberal mindset, makes her a suitable companion in any situation.

That, and she can stand up for herself and others when need be.

Regardless, I have noticed that the Ministry pays her a rather paltry amount in comparison to the works she does.

"Percy, what's this?"

"A code card, Moonie."

"I know that. But for what?"

"….My finances."

"…..You mean, your credits?"

"All of it."

Here it comes….

"Percy, this is-I can't even-I don't-wha-oh, I can't accept this in good conscience! Here, take it back!"

Of course.

"Why won't you accept it? Your salary is hardly compensation enough for the work you do around here. Not to mention the work you've been doing before you were hired."

"First of all, it's all of your credits, not mine. You've been working for it almost all your life. Second of all, I remember those good times. That one time you tried to drag me out, after I popped out of a box of wires you needed. Third, I don't mind working a little. I have energon and a place to recharge, and good friends and the opportunity to be helpful. That's all I need."

"Needs? Most bots need more than that to survive."

"Oh, c'mon, genius, I think I've covered the bases there. Energon, a place to recharge….and recharge itself, companionship, and exercise. Yep, thought of it all."

I drop the pliers I am fiddling with, and turn off the burner I have been using. So she wants to debate? Two can partake in this mind game.

"Following Eminate Xaaron's Hierarchy of Needs, how about safety? Warmth? Interface? Actually, considering interface, that might not even be a need, since most interface is recreational, and Cybertronians can technically reproduce-"

"-well, maybe the companionship and warmth needs of most bots are covered that way. Interface, I mean."

I look at her, and she gives me an incredulous look back. Yet neither of us will drop the topic. And since no one else is present….. 

"Now that I have mentioned it, what is so great about interfacing? There are data files on the matter. Dramatic works are made about it. It is tradition, that mentors are expected to answer their apprentices' questions upon interfacing."

"You've got a point. And you're so right about the mentor-apprentice thing, too. I mean, what I know on the subject, I learned from Chromia. I don't even know sometimes. She says I really should wait when it comes to interfacing, and really think about who I choose as a sparkmate. Then she gets into rather uncomfortable, but honest, talk about….like, positions or whatnot. She has a significant other right now."

"You do not?"

"Well, I'm just testing things out with Powerglide right now. Still have doubts. Not so sure. Spark bonds are things one doesn't lightly, says 'Mia.  
>…..Are we-are we really talking about fragging right now, 'Scientist'?"<p>

She laughs, and I can't help but chuckle alongside her.

"Apparently so. Just imagine, 'Sharpshooter': 'Yes, Alpha Trion, sir. The grant is going to an excellent and relevant study."

She chimes in with her own opinions. "Fragging: The impact of interface on Cybertronian history, sociology, and psychology."

"Conclusions will be announced after we find enough bonded pairs to examine about the various positions and preparation involved. Very, very relevant to the Autobot cause."

"And we take this study oh-so-very seriously."

The both of us cackle with laughter.

"We have such a messed-up sense of humor. Maybe you and I should never, ever be allowed to laugh. EVER."

"Nonsense. Laughter is shown to be healthy, not only emotionally, but mentally, psychologically, and physically as well."

We sit on a table, and as our laughter dies down, Moonracer moves herself so that we are back to back. I hear the distinct creak of her landing pads swinging back and forth.

She feels unnaturally warm. Perhaps the cool temperature of my labs is causing her systems to overproduce heat. Her voice, soft and lilting, a stark contrast from our boisterous laughter, breaks the companionable silence.

"Percy?"

"Yes?"

"The credits-"

"I've said before, you have access should you ever need any."

"No, not that. I mean….is one of the reasons for you giving me the code card involved with what happened a couple solar cycles ago?"

The sensation of my spark running cold suddenly fills my chassis.

Four solar cycles ago, I returned from being a Decepticon captive for approximately a megacycle. The opposing faction captured me, to not only hold me for ransom, but also to attempt copying my processor and finding the secret for my ability to store exponential amounts of data. They did deprive me of energon and recharge, and interrogated me until I began fading into stasis right in my trappings, and they did not torture me, but-they-they-

-then Autobots came to rescue me, but I was paralyzed.

Paralyzed. Completely online, and completely helpless. I could not get myself out.  
>I am supposed to be a genius, supposed to be smart enough to get myself out, and I could not.<br>When I was being fixed in a hospital before returning to the Guild, then to my quarters after an unnecessary check-up from Hoist, all I could do for the last half cycle was douse my faceplates with coolant, consume as much low-grade as my tanks could handle, then return to my projects as if nothing had happened. Four cycles, twenty kliks, and forty-three nanokliks later I was purging my tanks until the amount of energon I had was just enough to keep me online.

I abhorred that feeling. Of being unable to do anything.

"Percy? Percy? Percy!"

The image of myself cuffed to a wall in a Decepticon prison cell dissipates into Moonracer's pale green, concerned faceplates, her optics staring into mine with an intensity I haven't seen before.

"What? What? What did I do?"

"You….you just…..left your shell for a nanoklik there. One klik, you and I are back to back. The next klik, you're just staring off into the distance. No blinking, that faraway look I see in Greenlight's optics sometimes. What's going on?" 

I desire to tell her I am perfectly alright. I fully intend to. Yet, out of my vocal receptor she hears,

"They jammed a downloading peg into the middle of my head. No anesthetic, no disabling of pain receptors."

When I found out, it was by looking at the reflective surface of Ironfist's mask. It was the largest of the changes to my faceplates. It was a large gaping hole in the middle of my head. 

"It was one of the most painful things I had ever experienced." 

When they jammed the downloading peg, they wanted information, and didn't care about the consequences. They just wanted to solve whatever problem they had, right away. A quick solution. A heavy price. How did they do it? Supposedly, they are Cybertronian as well. Yet, how did they push their conscience all down when they had to maim, torture, or murder another bot for a selfish, idiotic cause?

These thoughts go down the proverbial drain when Moonracer takes my head and lays it on her right shoulderpad, since my microscope prevents a comfortable embrace on her left shoulderpad.

"Shhh. It's okay, Percy. It'll be okay. Your head, I mean. Does it hurt now? And did it do any permanent damage to your processor? No wonder you're acting all funny, with the interface jokes and the laughter tidbit. Are you okay? What'll happen if you, I dunno, have seizures? How many digits am I holding up?"

"Er…my head does not hurt now, I have no permanent damage I am aware of, I am okay, and you are holding up four digits."

There is tension in her back, the click-click-click of wires seizing up. But as she relaxes, a faint whoosh of air leaves her systems.

"Do not be worried for my sake. Really."

"But I do. I can't help it. I worry for you all the time. Even when I'm with Chromia. Even when I'm with Powerglide. Even now."

"But I have a relatively safe work environment. The biggest danger here is Wheeljack, and he is a member of our faction. On our side. I have a place to recharge, enough energon to consume, some of the best medical care on Cybertron, access to enough funds, supplies, and labor to carry out my science projects. I work in a place of science, something I have always felt strongly about, with bots I can depend on, and who can depend on me in return.  
>Why, oh why, do you worry for me?"<p>

"Because you're not happy."

"That is a hasty generalization. I am very content-"

"Then why does it seem you're missing something? Like…..I don't how to say, exactly, but….there's something inside of you unfulfilled? Unsatisfied? Like….there's something you want to so desperately tell me, joor after joor, but you just can't? You can't force yourself to do it."

I lift my head out of her crook of her chassis pillar. "Moonracer-" 

"I always have this feeling, something's not right with you. Something's horribly, horribly wrong, something now, or something to come. I can't quite put my digit on it, but….maybe, just maybe, whether or not you are aware, you have that feeling, too, and….you're trying to….keep everything you have close to you. Your capture by the Decepticons was only a preview, only a stepping stone, to this…something wrong. Am I…..am I making sense?"

"-I will be frank, Moonracer. You are not. But intuition does have its merits…..and also its problems. I, for one, do not have that 'feeling'. Although….you may not be wrong about me being in some sort of danger. There is a war, and yet, here we are laughing and making jokes. In a time of war no one is safe. You are simply more aware of it because you are a soldier. That is what you do" 

She cocks her head thoughtfully. "Now that you mention that….it just seems so unfair sometimes. How…not every bot is so battle-ready. I mean, you, for example. You don't even know how to handle a gun…." 

"Not necessarily true."

One of the three secrets I trusted with no one but Moonracer was a bomb test range I had access to. It was Wheeljack's personal test range where he would test bombs and other explosives a somewhat safe distance from the Guild. I have yet to convince him to permanently house his laboratories here as well, and, as a rebuttal, he allowed me to use it as well. Never thought I'd have a companion here.

Until this solar cycle.

"This is amazing, Percy! Your very own shooting range. The glass is shatter-proof AND sound-proof….."

There are no land mines, so it is safe enough for the two of us to set up a few makeshift targets that move every klik or so.

After about a breem or so of practice shooting while discussing a synthetic energon formula, she turns the discussion to me.  
>"How long have you been practicing sharpshooting?" <p>

"I estimate about an orn ago, not very long. I'm getting a little better with every passing solar cycle, but the progress is miniscule." 

"Why snipers? I mean, I'm your best friend. I'm a sharpshooter, and you now learning sharpshooting is going to make you seem unoriginal." 

"Yes, but I found that a sniper….suits me best. The weapon is lighter and, in some cases, easier to conceal, and it can catch a target from a great distance, while allowing the sharpshooter to stay a relatively safe distance from danger. It also uses less bullets and takes less time to repair. Logical choice, for me, anyway."

"Hmmm, that's a pretty good explanation. Me…..I just like it. It's too tiring to do that Chromia thing, just to run into battle with a dozen guns strapped to my frame, firing two automatics like there's no tomorrow." 

"In a battle like that, many don't experience a tomorrow." 

The sound of our gunshots cease.

"I-"

"It's true, though. You're not wrong." 

"Hmm."

She cocks her head to one side, running her gaze along my support servos and along the length of the sniper. I do not pay too much attention, concentrated with trying to hit targets. 

"Your aim isn't too bad, but a bot like you will not always have a gun within servo's reach. You need to learn some individual defense lessons. Close combat." 

"I do not have the capability for that. My frame is much too light, and my shell is hardly powerful enough to take down combatants quickly enough."

"So do I. I have a lithe frame as well, but I can probably fight better than you can."

She carefully places her sniper down. "How about I teach you a few things?" 

I stop shooting and glance in her direction. "Now?"

"Yes, now, silly. I'll teach you just basic stuff you need to know."

I carefully place my sniper down, and turn off the moving targets. "Is that really necessary?" 

She looks away for a klik, then sharply looks back at me. "Who's to say something bad won't happen to you again?", she murmurs bluntly. "I wouldn't be a very good friend if I didn't at least show you some way of helping yourself. Like you said, it's a time of war. We all need to be ready."

I stare down at my servos.  
>Am I capable of hurting another bot, if only to protect myself or another? Am I able to seriously injure, or even possibly take a life, if it meant protecting something even greater? Could I bear to? Would I be able to when the time came? And could I face the consequences of my actions when I did? If the situation called for it, could I look in the faceplates of another bot and watch them offline before my very optics? <p>

I answer, but it feels as though another bot is speaking through me. 

"**Yes. More than anyone will ever know."**

Moonracer is oblivious to the darkness in my tone. "Great! Then follow me out here, so that there's enough room."

I follow her out to an open area, and she instructs me to face her.

"Okay, so…now….I want you to….come and attack me." 

"….You're not serious." 

"I am dead serious. I will be gentle to you, I promise."

"I am not worried for myself."

"Well, what do yo-oh! Me! Don't worry about me."

"I do worry about you. As much as you worry about me."

"You really shouldn't."

"I will worry about you as long as you worry about me. Fair is fair."

She holds my gaze for a klik; holds it with the same intense blue I saw in her optics before.

"You know, it's times like this I wonder why you don't have a girlfriend-"

"-Because I…have never seemed to find one, perhaps? I do not….socialize….as much as Wheeljack says I should."

"I should drag you along with me sometime."

"After this lesson, perhaps?"

She smiles. "You're so formal, with your 'perhaps' and whatnot. You can most definitely get a significant other even without my help."

An involuntary rise in temperature heats my faceplates.

"How about…..okay, come here. You need to face my back, and, when I say 'go', put your arms around my chassis pillar, like you're going to cut off my flow of energon by decapitation."

I raise an optic ridge, but I oblige, standing directly behind her. I see any visible wiring coil with tension as she prepares herself.

"See how I'm crouching? How far apart my stabilizing servos are? You want to make your attacker believe that you're giving up, you're slouching over in defeat. When really, you're seeing if his solar plexus, or the area under his chin, the front of his neck, or his…..ah….unmentionables….are unprotected. Alright, go!"

I almost miss the cue, grabbing her from behind just a microklik after her command.

And, through the pain-induced haze that follows after, I faintly register that her elbow joint slams into my faceplates with sudden, surprising force.

"OhmiPrimus! Percy!"

I feel myself stagger back from the blow, grabbing onto the nearest solid thing my servo touches.

It's Moonracer's shoulderpad, and she gently eases me onto the floor and grabs my faceplates in her thin digits.

"OhmiPrimus ohmiPrimus ohmiPrimus I AM SO SORRY PERCY!"

"Moonie, don't be worried, I've sustained injuries far worse than this-" 

"-your olfactory sensor is leaking!" 

"Is it?" I manage to touch my servo to the area underneath my olfactory sensor. My digits stain bright blue from leaked energon. I gently press into any areas around my olfactory sensor to feel what she hit. Besides my broken olfactory sensor and some slight bruising near my right optic, I am in working condition.

"Percy, dear Primus, I am so sorry! I don't know what I was thinking!"

"You're a soldier, and you are conditioned to react that way. It's perfectly alright."

"But you're bleeding! And besides, I think there's a cut near your right optic."

"It will heal in a solar cycle or so, now please, stop worrying. I don't like seeing you afraid."

She cups my faceplates in her servos and gently brushes my right optic with a digit. That unexplainable flash of heat arises again.

"Still…I could have done so much more damage to you if I applied more force. That cut near your optic, I think it's gotten bigger."

She takes her servos away and slumps in a kneeling-down position. I sense the thoughts that fly across her processor as I straighten myself. Then I see her faceplates light up with some crazy, wonderful idea. She calmly smiles and takes her yellow visor off of her head (how did I oversee that until now?), and slides them on my faceplates so that they shield my optics.

"In exchange for….well…everything. That's yours now, Perce. Then you're less likely to lose an optic to my clumsiness."

I take it off, take one of her servos, and carefully place the visor in her palm.

"You're not clumsy. Far from it, actually. And…..this visor. It's yours. You need it more than me….I couldn't possibly…."

She simply slides it back on my faceplates. "…..shh. It's called Equivalent Exchange, scientist. 'In order to gain, something of equal or greater value must be lost.' My shield, in exchange for your support. The visor that protect my optics from bullets and Wheeljack's explosions for the longest time, plus made me look pretty awesome out in training with 'Mia, in exchange for access to your precious, hard-earned credits."

"You're bringing up the credits again."

"Because it's a big deal for me. Not even Chromia was that….lenient. 'My dear girl, if you want to be anything like me, you have to work for a living. You have to learn what it's like, to have to survive on your own. To scratch a living, and to sacrifice. Because, sweetspark, this world doesn't care how pretty or awesome you think you are. You can't learn to survive on your own, you ain't gonna be a help to anyone else. Believe me, dear girl. That's the truth.' So, yeah….free credits…in exchange for a measly visor." 

She suddenly looks up at me. "You're right, Perce. That visor isn't enough. Maybe I can-"

I touch my servo to her vocal labi.

Another intense stab of heat. I have got to see Hoist, or Red Alert, about that.

"No. This is….this is sufficient. I greatly appreciate this, Moonie. I do."

"Wait, what? Percy, it's just a protective visor. You could've probably bought a better one someplace else, or had one made for you. I know bots that do make visors."

"Well, this visor was given to me by my best friend."

"Your…..your best friend?"

I nod.

"Isn't Wheeljack-"

"-My partner. My co-worker. My colleague and friend professionally. Not my best friend. I don't quite know how to verbalize it, but-somehow, you make me feel safer. As if I could tell you anything, and you wouldn't condemn or berate me."

"Because you can, Perceptor. You can tell me anything, and I promise, no matter what, I will have your back. You will have my support. We will be friends forever."

"Forever is a long time."

"So I hear."

"This visor is a symbol of our friendship. As long as I wear it, it means that we are friends. That we can trust each other definitely."

"I like the sound of that."

A signature radiant smile from Moonracer, and I fix the visor on my slightly painful olfactory sensor in response. Everything bathes in a cool yellow tinge, but I can still see everything clearly.

"This place, or at least me using it outside of scientific purposes, is one secret you know of. You know the second one already."

"That you-"

"Yes."

"Not even Wheeljack knows that?" 

"No."

"I see." Moonracer moves to wipe the trail of energon leaking from my olfactory sensor, but after a few kliks she looks at me and makes a face.

"What?"

"What do you mean, what?"

"You're smiling at me."

"Am I? I suppose, then, I have just found how you can compensate the access to my credits. In exchange for my credits, you give-or, rather, already have given me-your protection, your trust, and your friendship. Fair?"

I hesitantly put my servo out to shake. I have read that personal deals between two bots were sealed with a joining of servos. She slips her servo into mine.

"Fair."

We seal the deal with a small shake, and I let my servo drop first.  
>"It's just amazing, really, that I can trust you with almost anything, and not experience any negative feelings."<p>

My best friend stands up. "Almost anything? Please, Percy, you can trust me with everything."

I stand up as well, but my spark feels like it's dropping down, down into the ground. She walks back to the main laboratories, probably to go pick up an energon cube for me, but I can't help but whisper to her retreating form,

"Oh, Moonracer …'everything' is not as simple and easy as you'd like it to be."

_


	5. Quantum of Absence

Greetings, my lovelies.

After a long, excruciating wait, I reward your patience and love with another chapter!

Hopefully, by now, you are all acquainted with the Cybertronian terminology I use in this fic. If not….

Body parts (all approximate, and the anatomical chart I use for my stories):

Hands = Servos

Arms = Support Servos  
>Legs = Stabilizing Servos<br>Tongue = Glossa  
>Feet = Landing Pads<br>Shoulders and Knees = Shoulderpads and kneepads, respectively  
>Eyes = Optics<br>Fingers = Digits  
>Hips = Pistons<br>Lips = Vocal Labi  
>Mouth = Vocal Receptor<br>Ears = Audio Receptor  
>Neck = Chassis Pillar<p>

Torso/Chest = Chassis  
>Body = FrameShell  
>Brain = Processor<br>Sections of brain = Lobes 

And time (all approximate, and the chronological chart I use for my stories):

Any time less than a second = Microklik  
>Second = Nanoklik<br>Minute = Klik  
>8.3 Minutes = Breem<br>Hour = Cycle  
>6 Hours = Joor<br>Day (both day and night) = Solar Cycle  
>Week = Decacycle<br>Month = Orbital Cycle  
>6 MonthsHalf a Stellar Cycle = Orn  
>Year = Stellar Cycle<br>83 Years = Vorn  
>Approx. 100 years = Megacycle<p>

Hope this helps. 

I figured, a little after I put up the new chapter on DeviantArt, I should explain what the fudge my weird chapter titles mean. 

I say "HA! Figure it out for yourselves!" 

No really. I can only give you definitions of words and whatnot. What the titles mean to you, what you get from every chapter, only you will know first what it means. But, just for fun:

'Quantum' has different meanings, coming mostly from a Latin phrase meaning 'how great', but the definitions are as follows =  
>1<strong>. <strong>A quantity or amount.

2.A specified portion.

3.Something that can be counted or measured. 

And 'Absence' =  
>1.The state of being away.<p>

2.The time during which one is away.

3.Lack; want: an absence of leadership.

Now, go on and enjoy the new chapter! 

~Ylysha

Disclaimer: Transformers, and anything relate to it, is not mine. Neither is the pairing. I just ship it hard.  
><em><br>__  
><em><br>I am concerned._

_After Perceptor's deletion of emotions, Wheeljack was never the same. Very quiet, particularly in close proximity to the famed scientist. He used to ramble about whatever scientific mumble-jumble, to the point it nearly drove me crazy every time I'd hear him talk. Or until he blew up._

_But now? That same somber expression and silence every time I'd hear any mention of the microscope._

"_How-how is Perceptor?"_

_Ironic. Now Wheeljack's the one not speaking.  
><em>

"_He's….okay. He's doing pretty well. Like, no health problems or anything. He's fine. He's perfectly fine. Never been better since the….since deleting his emotions. Yeah. Fine."_

_"Sure."  
><em>

_In honesty I am not so sure. My experience on Earth has taught me how to detect liars. Or, at least, when a bot….or a human….or a techno-organic...isn't telling everything. Good experience, one of the few things I miss about Earth._

"_What could…..push him to do that?"_

_"He thought….he thought emotions were of little use in the field of science. I…I tried to convince him otherwise. Oh well. He won't have to ever worry about feeling anything like worry, or concern, or sparkbreak, or anger, or frustration, or anything like that."_

_Wheeljack takes his optics off the empty cube long enough to look at me. I was right. He was hiding something, and it's burdening him more than I thought._

_"Was it because of you? Did you convince him?"  
><em>

"_He convinced himself. He…never told me about it. Never did let me know. Probably because he knew that I'd try to stop him somehow. He wiped his emotions because he thought they were a burden to his work to the Autobot cause. Well, it's really gonna suck if he remembers why he deleted them, but doesn't have the feelings to understand his decision. Percy's an extremist, pure and simple." He looked up at me with remorseful optics._

_"Though, naturally, I didn't help."_

_I break away from his gaze and stare at my empty cube. "He was also stuck in the Guild Scientius for most of his life. He's a recluse, with little desire to interact with other bots. Few bots go through his laboratories. Who had such an influence on him? What could've happened that he would think that? It's emotion that grounds the Autobot cause and gives it meaning, it's emotion that gives you reason for helping other bots, emotion that, at the very least, keeps you from violating your own sense of self. Perceptor did away with all that just to be a better scientist?"_

_"I know you don't like scientists too much, Ratchet, but under the titles of Council and Ministry of Science and Project Omega and things like that, we're all Cybertronians here, trying to make the best of what's happening around us. Or at least trying to understand. Perceptor experienced a lot of things in the Guild, more than you'll ever know. Haven't you ever had that happen, where somebot whom you think you have almost nothing to do with or relate on, turns out to change your life forever?..."  
><em>

_He's speaking, but I can only sense his vocal receptor going and going. All I can do is remember. Remember that solar cycle on the battlefield, and the Decepticon chemist I helped. Remember activating Omega Supreme, one of the most dangerous Autobots ever manufactured. Remember Arcee, and how she affected me for the rest of my life. Remember Optimus Prime, and Bulkhead, and Bumblebee, and Prowl, and Sari, the most mismatched bots of the universe._

_Remember the chaos. Remember the end result. Remember the lessons I've learned._

_More than meets the optic. Or, as humans would say it, "More than meets the eye."_

_My reverie is broken by Wheeljack gently easing my empty cube out of my servo._

_"I'll leave you to your thoughts for now, and just get more high grade."  
><em>

"_Th-you do that", I say, and he leaves._

_Leaves me all alone in a deep blue room with my thoughts._

_Has it been so long since I've truly been on this planet?  
><em>

_There's so much I still don't know._

_Suddenly Cybertron doesn't feel so familiar anymore._

**Quantum of Absence**

or

_A story of catching up gone wrong, the memory of a sister-in-arms, a furious femme, her remorseful apprentice, two inventors, further explanations, the measures of a millennium past, and a plan of restitution._

__  
><em><strong>{Three orbital cycles after the return of Optimus Prime from Earth}<br>**__  
><em>[Iacon Convoy Apartments Complex, Cybertron]_  
><em> 

"So…this is nice." 

It's hard to believe a Prime is speaking to me this way. And I'm not stupid. I know that Optimus is trying to smooth me down after the interrogation by several members of the Council. Trying to calm me down. I appreciate it.

"Yeah."

Doesn't mean I like it.

"Having you back, I mean. It's been so long. I'm sure there's a lot of things you want to know right now."

I glare at him.

"Yes. Like, how the frag did SENTINEL become ACTING MAGNUS? What the PIT was the Council thinking when they chose him? What was Ultra Magnus thinking when they choose him? Where the frag were you all that time?" 

"I was sentenced to a maintenance crew after….the incident-"

"-after Elita went missing-" 

"-no, after Elita-went offline- Chromia, why must you bring it up?-" 

"-you mentioned it first, you idiot-" 

"-she's GONE now! No longer among us. Let it go." 

He suddenly draws back from the iciest glare I throw at him. Good. He deserves it.

"A thousand stellar cycles, Fu-ture Ab-sol-lute. A thousand stellar cycles of searching for her. Leaving behind my home, my loved ones, Ironhide-I did NOT fragging leave to look for someone who is dead! I did NOT fragging drag four other femmes with me, with their own lives and problems, to look for someone who is dead! I did not go through four galaxies, nearly offline on twenty-four planets, and put my girls through it all to find someone who is dead!" 

He dumbly stares at me. 

"I know that everyone has accepted that Elita-1 is dead and gone, but you and I both know that is a heap of SLAG. She is alive, somewhere, somehow, and as soon as we've got everything here, my girls and I will leave this planet to find her! We'll leave this doomed planet to BURN beneath Sentinel's servo!"

"Chromia!" 

I face him completely now, pulling my servos off of the railing on the balcony of his new living space.

"What? Don't like it? It's the truth, isn't it? Even as we speak, Sentinel is still the cause of turmoil within the Autobots-"

"-He will NO LONGER BE ACTING MAGNUS!"

My vocal receptor hangs open mid-rant. Optimus' servos clench tighter around the rail.

"Sentinel won't be Acting Magnus anymore. The Council came to me a few solar cycles before your return, and…..they talked with me about Sentinel's…..progress….as Acting Magnus…."

"So they asked if you could replace him." 

"How-? How did you…..?"

"I figured out pretty quickly. You're that transparent."

"Am I?"

"Yes. But don't worry. It just means if you're doing something wrong, it'll be easier to tell you. And besides", I say, turning around and perching myself on the rail we're leaning up against, "If what I hear is true, and you did manage to keep an entire team safe on….what was that planet again….?" 

"Earth?" 

"Thank you. Yeah…..if you've managed to keep your entire team in good shape, and alive, while on a strange planet, you can't be that bad of a leader. I would know." I look over at him, feeling strangely content with myself right now. "My girls are online and well after all the slag I put them through, so I must've been doing something right."

"Then tell me. Tell me what you've been doing right, because despite my best efforts, not all of my team members made it to Cybertron online."

Immediately my spark sinks to my landing pads. The ninja known as Prowl. He died on that planet. Firestar told me. I knew him. Poor mech. 

"Hmm. This would be the time I tell someone like you to suck it up…except I honestly don't know what you're going through. I can only empathize with you losing a team member. If I lost one of my girls…..I dunno, I almost did. Many times. I knew Prowl….though you probably knew him better….and if he were here, he'd probably agree when I say that you'd be a much better leader than ole Planet-chin." 

"Do you really believe so?" 

"Oh, yeah. I do."

"Well, I refused."

"Refused what?"

"Being Acting Magnus."

I stare at him. 

He glances back.

I punch him in the faceplates.

"YOU IDIOT!"

A thousand stellar cycles, that punch would've been enough to send him collapsing into a heap on the ground. But now, he manages to take it well, staggering back only a little. Bracing himself against the chair he was sitting in a few kliks ago, not a sound of pain escapes him. He simply holds the side of his faceplates I cracked open, and looks at me with unchanged optics. 

"Why?"

"Because…", he whispers, "….I am not ready."

My temper flares up again, but I bite my fist to keep it from flying into the other side of his faceplates.

"FRAG BEING READY! You think I was ready to lose my best friend, my sister-in-arms? You think Elita was ready to be forgotten by everyone, never to be searched for, left behind? You think Cybertron was ready for a leader like Sentinel? FRAG BEING READY! I ought to hit you again; maybe then you'd get it through your thick processor that the Autobots need a new leader!"

"Ultra Magnus is still online-"

"-Not for much longer, if Sentinel had his way-"

"-Chromia, while I don't deny Sentinel may not be the best of Autobots, he is not the worse either, and you judging him unfairly like that-" 

"-You think my opinion is based on my mere dislike of him?"

"You've only been here four solar cycles!"

"You learn a lot in four solar cycles, Optimus." I look away from him, and set my gaze upon all of Iacon, the capital of the Autobots. The vast landscape, the colorful lights, and that familiar purple-pink lights that led bots in the know to Maccadam's Old Oil House. The bots walking to and fro, and the sounds of life passing by. 

How could these bots live with…..Sentinel….as their leader? I never liked that slagger. 

"I learned a lot in four solar cycles. I learned about what he's done to the Old Oil House. And the curfews. And I've learned about how he behaved when the Council wasn't exhaling down his chassis pillar. I've learned about the Jet Twins, and Jazz _and_ Prowl, and the Deceptions he supposedly captured, and the propaganda involving Ultra Magnus-"

"-He's trying to protect the Autobots!" 

"While abusing whatever dignity Ultra Magnus had left? While downgrading _your_ part in, well, anything you've helped him with? You've been letting him do whatever he wanted. You and Elita-1 both-"

"-you will NOT talk about Elita that way!"

"Offended? It's true! I told her this before she disappeared! Both you and 'Lita let Planet-Chin do whatever he wanted, and now all of Cybertron has followed in your steps! All to keep your friendship with him! What sort of fragging friendship is that?" 

"A complicated one!" He carefully makes his way to me, no longer cradling the broken side of his faceplates, but simply allowing energon to flow down in little drops. He hangs his head with a loud sigh. "You don't understand sacrifice-"

My knee joint flies into his stabilizing servo.  
>"-I understand it very well, Optimus! You and I both know that being a leader requires sacrifice. Great sacrifices. More than you'd ever think. Heavier than you'd ever thought possible." This blow, while it doesn't cause him to crumple, does cause him to bend over in agony.<p>

"But becoming Pro Temporare Magnus in place of Sentinel will require only one sacrifice: your friendship with him. Cut the wires. We'll all be better off without him, including-no-especially you. You can't afford to please and include everyone, Optimus. If Sentinel cares only about himself, then that's all he'll ever need to care about. We don't need somebot that doesn't care about our cause." 

The red and blue bot straightens himself up. "Everyone is worth saving, Chromia. Everyone is worth including in a world where there's no war. My name is Optimus for a reason."

"I'm wondering if old mech Kup was in his right mind when he gave you all your names. Your name fits, and so does Elita's, but Sentinel…..Jerkaft would've been much more appropriate. Jerkaft Prime. Yeah. Much more fitting. The archaic term for 'guard' just doesn't fit him. No one would've ever let him be Magnus."

"I honestly can't believe you right now, Chromia." 

A cold smirk pulls at my vocal labi. "That's a first." 

"What?" 

"You being completely honest with me. Any other bot being real honest with me. Slag, it's hard sometimes, for my own apprentice to be honest with me. Speaking of which, where the Pit is Moonracer? She and the rest of my girls are probably worried sick right now. How long have I been interrogated?" 

"Um, about a solar cycle. And as for Moonracer, well, she went to the Guild Scientius-"

"-I-I'm sorry, what was that?"

"The Guild Scientius, Chromia."

"…You're not serious."

"She asked me directions a few cycles ago. The orange and purple bot-Lancer, I think her name was-said she'd tell you."

"…."

"…Chromia?" 

"…FRAGGIT!"

"Wha-? Why? What's wrong?

"Fragging scientists, that's what's wrong!"

"You…..alright, YOU can't be serious! It's been a thousand stellar cycles past. All those rumors of corrupted scientists…..dear Primus, Chromia, let it go! They were just rumors!" 

I am already halfway out his apartment. I swing around incredulously to look at him.

The pitiful mech. He doesn't know. He doesn't know about the Guild's Projects, or the techno-organic craze that swept scientists on both factions, or the hundreds of experiments resulting in disabled, insane, or offline bots because of that _one bot._ Because of the words that came of the vocal receptor of that one bot, many other innocent bots suffered. Many of my friends and other noble Autobots nearly lost everything because of that. And no one knows about it all, because of the power of that _one bot._

"_Just rumors_?", I manage to hiss. "You had no idea, Optimus _Prime_. But you will know. Soon enough. And when you do, you will never be the same."

A tense silence passes. He has nothing more to say to me, so I whirl around and walk out the door. But just before I leave the apartments, I hear him, but I don't turn to acknowledge him.

"A thousand stellar cycles has made you sparkless, Chromia", he murmurs, rather sadly.

"A thousand stellar cycles has made you soft, Optimus", I retort.

I exit the complex, transform, and drive off in the direction of the Guild.

Optimus Prime. Can't believe I once pegged him as one of the good Autobots. If he was kicked out of the Academy like me, he was never forced to be in a place he didn't want to, because of something he didn't do, like me. He didn't nearly offline on another planet, fighting for his life, because of some idiotic little thing, like me.

Well, frag him. Frag them all.

The world passes me by in a blur, and I find myself at the entrance of the Guild. I transform back into bot mode and begin pounding on the doorway. 

"Open up! It's Chromia Minor of Iacon! I need to come inside right now, or I'll-"

The doors slide open with a hiss. A familiar mint-green femme greets me.

"Moonie? What the frag happened?" 

"Wha-what do you mean?"

She's been my apprentice for one thousand, six hundred, thirty-seven stellar cycles. Cramped in the same living quarters I have been for a thousand of those stellar cycles. Does she honestly think, after all that time, I wouldn't be able to see that she had been crying?

Moonie's such an emotional bot. Able to keep herself together, alright, but jaAm, if she's been in any emotionally-fueled outbursts, whether angry or sad, or something in between, by Primus, you could see it a kilometre away. 

"You've been optic-leaking." 

She will not meet my optics.

"Don't lie to me now." 

She lifts her head, and I see it. The signs of very subtle corrosion near the coolant-duct of the optics. Usually really fragging obvious, to the trained optic, after a bot's been crying, due to the coolant being warm enough and usually containing sodium.

"Why? What happened?", I ask as motherly as I can, since gentility is not my forte.

The answer that slips past her vocal labi freezes my energon.

"It's Perceptor. He…..he threw me out."

My vision runs red, like a Decepticon's optics, and I suddenly begin groping places on my shell where I usually keep my guns. 

Slag. They stripped me of all my firearms. Doesn't stop me from angrily searching.

"No! 'Mia, I know what you're thinking….'that sparkless fragger I'm gonna offline him'….you've got it all wrong….'MIA HE DOESN'T REMEMBER ANYTHING! Now STOP IT!" 

"What sort of slag is that?", I retort. That son of a glitch. He thinks just because he knows everything, he can feign amnesia just to frag with my apprentice's processor. 

"It's not slag, I promise you." 

The new voice is masculine. The source is Wheeljack, calmly walking over to us from wherever he came from.

"No?" 

"No, Chromia. It's not." He throws me a somewhat tired look edged with a bit of anger. Turning to Moonracer, he sighs. "Perceptor deleted his emotions." 

"Not like he needed them", I mutter.

Moonracer gives me an appalled look, one that is half sorrow and half shocked. Wheeljack's look is the complete opposite: his anger, though it never manifests physically, blazes in his optics. Looking back at Moonie, I feel a twist of….something…..in my own spark. Guilt? Is it guilt? 

I don't like it.

"Why?", Moonracer whispers, looking back at Wheeljack. My spark twists more. The engineer holds his pissed look at me, then turns on his communicator.  
>"Ironfist? Yeah, it's me. Look, if it's possible, can you get some medium-grade down here? Yeah, purple ones are fine. You can? Great. Please bring 'em down to the entrance of the Guild. One for yourself, too. Remember that story I told you? Yeah…you're not the only one that needs an explanation. No, it'll be-okay, thanks. You're the greatest apprentice a bot can have." He clicks it off, then looks back at Moonie.<p>

"Perceptor deleted his emotions, like I've said before. In the process, I….don't really know how it happened, but-he lost some of his memory as well. I've tried finding a way to reverse the process, mostly the memory loss part. I know how close the two of you were. He…..he felt absolutely terrible for what happened after you left. I tried to talk him out of it, but-" 

"-Percy's an extremist. I know. Oh, Primus", she chokes out, looking away. 

"I'm….I am so sorry. Really I am. I'm still working at it, but I'm just as hopeless as I was when I started." 

Moonracer is too shocked to say anything else. She simply covers her vocal receptor with her servo. I see the coolant gathering at her optics. 

"Where is that son of a glitch? I am going to offline him", I blurt, though I feel no remorse for my words. Wheeljack fixates me with the hardest look I've ever seen from him.

"I appreciate your honesty, Chromia, but not your intention to cause any harm to my partner…even if he does deserve a kick in the head for it." 

"He deserves more than a kick, 'Jack", I growl. 

"Who deserves more than a kick?", a new voice pipes up, which attracts everyone's attention.

How the frag did we not hear Ironfist opening the entrance? I don't know too much of Wheeljack's apprentice, but he speaks with an interesting accent that faintly reminds me of Ironhide's. The novice holds a little tray of four energon cubes, three purple, one pink.

Wheeljack and I quickly glance at one another. What do we say? What do we do? The answer comes through Moonracer, and, once again, it's not one that I like. 

"Me. I deserve more than a kick. I…I didn't even think…" 

She breaks off with a shake of her head. Ironfist walks closer to us and soothingly pats her on the shoulderpad. I feel horrible that she lied to cover it up, but now was not the time for the younger inventor to know. 

"Well, that's strange. Why'd you say 'he' instead of 'she', or 'you', for that reason? I think….ah, never mind what I think. Here, have this pink cube. I'm sure what you did, or thought you did, could've been that bad."

"She's the Sharpshooter, Wrecker." 

"Oh, I know she's a sharpshooter-"

"-the story, Ironfist. I'm talking about the story." 

"Story…?...oh! That story. Then, is the Scientist-?" 

"-Yes. Perceptor. He's the one." 

"Oh." This statement sounds hollow, and it's followed with a pregnant silence as he gives both his mentor and I a purple cube. 

"Oh. OH!"

I look at Wheeljack. "What story?" 

The younger inventor takes a long sip from his cube. "'Jack once told me a thinly disguised story about how Percy and Moonie became friends, since I started working in the Guild only after the Great War. And…..what happened to them. I don't really know everything, but I do know that Moonracer left with you, Chromia, to go look for Elita-1, while Perceptor was left alone here. I don't why, but he didn't come to me or Wheeljack for help or anything. I began noticing after Project Omega, how weird he was acting. And also how more introverted he became. He….was drinking a lot after you left, Moonie. I would usually be the one to deliver high-grade to his quarters if Wheeljack couldn't do it. It was…quite a lot. He didn't want to talk to anyone, and there was that one time I heard him yell at Red Alert and Hoist. Red Alert left, and-"

"-You're not helping my already emotionally-wrecked apprentice, Ironfist!" My patience is wearing thin, and watching Moonie looking sadder and sadder makes my spark twist until it feels like an actual injury instead of a simple feeling. 

"Look, I'm just reiterating what happened after she left. Why, Moonracer? What did you say to Percy? Or what did you do? Maybe if I take you to him now, you can apologize and sort things out, and then-"

"Your mentor's partner does not remember a single thing!"

It stops the younger bot. "What?" 

I fold my support servos across my chassis. "You heard me."

He looks over at his beloved mentor, whose head hangs low. You deserve it.

"Is this true? This is the part of the story you never wanted to tell me, isn't it?" 

Just tell him the truth, Wheeljack. Then we can all put this behind, my apprentice can forget your slagger of a partner, and we'll get on with lives, and no one is hurt because of it. Enough lies. Enough deception. Our apprentices deserve better. 

"…Yes. Restoring his emotions is one thing, but restoring his memories is another. He's already been through so much, what with the War Projects and the scandals, and the fact that, yes, there were corrupt scientists and they kept believing he was one of them….it was so much. Add to his list a strange, yet terrible accident that robs him of his voice and nearly offlines him, and you wonder how he hadn't cracked then." 

My digits dig into the finish of my upper support servos. There is just too much the explosive engineer does not know. During his confession, my minty-green apprentice glares at me with a knowing look. That look is reserved for one moment only: when she's been thinking of my darkest deed. That, despite the fact that she's forgiven me, she will never, ever forget.

Stupid guilt trip.

"But then his best friend in the whole world leaves him, his colleagues don't trust him anymore, and he yells at me and feels so guilty for it. He came to his breaking point, and everything went to the Pit. It took so long for him to recover from it all, and I don't need him, nor want him, to go through it all again." 

A deep and painful silence sweeps over the entrance of the Guild. I look at Wheeljack, who looks at Ironfist, who looks at Moonie, who looks back at me. There is an unspoken agreement that no bot, not even honest little me, will reveal all this until the time is right. Finally, the white mech speaks. 

"Do you understand, Moonracer? Do you all understand? Nothing is as easy as it was then. An absence of peace, and truth, and friends, the absence, the loss, of many things….measure it all, and you will not wonder why everything on Cybertron is the way it is now." 

"That may be, Wheeljack…", Moonracer responds, that familiar note of determination creeping into her voice, "…but everybot here knows that we have to make up for those absences. That's why Chromia, me, and the rest of our team returned. That's probably why Optimus' team has returned, too." Her voice strengthens, and the emotional little femme that was my apprentice is replaced by this clever, determined sharpshooter that _is_ my apprentice.

"We're all here to makes things right. And I, personally, will start….by helping Perceptor get his memories back. Helping him to get his emotions back. And if that is not possible, then….." 

I almost want to smack my servo to my faceplate.

"…..then I'll start again. Just start again. Just get to know him, to slowly be friends again."

I open my vocal receptor to say something, anything, but she fixates me with the most determined look I've ever seen in her optics. She speaks, as if to all of us, but I know she's speaking directly to me. 

"And **none** of you will stop me." 

Dear Primus, I've managed to pass on my stubbornness to her.

The two scientists don't care. "Then we'll help you, Moonracer", Wheeljack says to her. "You're always welcome to come in, and work with us. All of us here at the Guild Scientius."

He opens his support servos to her, and she embraces him. Then Ironfist, who goes back inside right after. She moves to hug me, but I hesitate.

"Chromia? Chromia, I know you may not approve of what I'm doing, but-" 

I cut her off with my own warm embrace. "I'm your mentor, sweetspark, not your femme creator. You're not the same femme I took under my proverbial wing, all those vorns ago. I can't stop you. You go do whatever you want to do." 

"Thank you, 'Mia", she whispers in my audio receptor, before breaking away and joining Wheeljack in an excited exchange of words. 

"Yes, Moonracer, your will, your choices are all your own", I say as I watch the Guild's grand main entrance close shut. "You can do whatever you choose." 

_But you will be the one to reap the consequences._

_ 


	6. A Mighty Dark Plot

Hello, lovelies.

I am hoping you all are well. I am well, despite the hell week I had just recently. Oi.

Anyway, I reward your faithfulness and just awesome comments and reviews with another chapter! I will get to my responses….eventually. *headdesk*

Hopefully, by now, you are all acquainted with the Cybertronian terminology I use in this fic. If not….

Body parts (all approximate, and the anatomical chart I use for my stories):

Hands = Servos  
>Arms = Support Servos<br>Legs = Stabilizing Servos  
>Tongue = Glossa<br>Teeth = Denta  
>Feet = Landing Pads<br>Shoulders and Knees = Shoulderpads and kneepads, respectively  
>Eyes = Optics<br>Fingers = Digits  
>Hips = Pistons<br>Lips = Vocal Labi  
>Mouth = Vocal Receptor<br>Ears = Audio Receptor  
>Neck = Chassis Pillar<br>Torso/Chest = Chassis  
>Body = FrameShell  
>Skin = Finish<br>Brain = Processor  
>Sections of brain = Lobes<p>

And time (all approximate, and the chronological chart I use for my stories):

Any time less than a second = Microklik  
>Second = Nanoklik<br>Minute = Klik  
>8.3 Minutes = Breem<br>Hour = Cycle  
>6 Hours = Joor<br>Day (both day and night) = Solar Cycle  
>Week = Decacycle<br>Month = Orbital Cycle  
>6 MonthsHalf a Stellar Cycle = Orn  
>Year = Stellar Cycle<br>83 Years = Vorn  
>Approx. 100 years = Megacycle<p>

Hope this helps.

I figured, a little after I put up the new chapter on DeviantArt, I should explain what the fudge my weird chapter titles mean.

A guilty pleasure of mine is REPO: The Genetic Opera, a rock musical. Well, not the gory parts, or the parts where people swear so much, but the music and singing and story…..LOVE it. I had watched it before, but I rewatched the Epilogue part, where Graverobber sings:

_Goth opera, blood saga,  
>sometimes I wonder how we ever got here,<br>old grudges, scorned lovers,  
>sometimes I wonder why we all don't move on!<br>'Cause we all end up in a mighty pine box,  
>a mighty small clock and a mighty dark plot…<em>

And bing! Wondering what to name my chapter was no longer a problem.

And, if you think about it, while this is a romance fic, the story behind everyone involved in _Penumbra_is rather….dark. How fitting!

Also, and a big thank you to Ms. Faber for bringing this up:

_He doesn't know about the Guild's Projects, or the techno-organic craze that swept scientists on both factions, or the hundreds of experiments resulting in disabled, insane, or offline bots because of that one bot."_

Sari's too new, so you mean Black Arachnia?

Well, hon, I wasn't going to make it known until later chapters, but….I'll give you all a basic breakdown.

Cybertronians are surrounded by a number of species larger than themselves, any of which can cause great harm, hence, I think, why they've had to learn how to transform and disguise themselves as mere vehicles. We're smaller than them, and yet, across continuities, certain humans can disarm Cybertronians.

In TFA, most Cybertronians show an aversion to organics, despite Fanzone being the first full organic to ever step on Cybertron. And if bees and wasps are Earth creatures, how did Sentinel even think of those names for the two cadets he named?

My theory: Bees and wasps….and giant spiders, are present in the Cybertronian galaxy, but, just like the spiders that bit Elita-1, these bees and wasps and other creepy-crawlies were also large enough to harm Cybertronians. And since bees and wasps could fly…..poor land-based bots. But…at least in my plot….thanks to the efforts of Beta Magnus, they are now a thing of Cybertron's past.

Now, what does this have to do with the techno-organic 'craze'?

If we remain in TFA canon, Sari is not the first techno-organic of Cybertronian origin. Neither is Blackarachnia. That honor goes to Botanica, a member of the High Council who was, according to the Allspark Almanac, a former 'mover and shaker' in the higher classes. Meaning, obviously she was different and shook up some kind of status quo. She used to, anyway.  
>Various theories abound on how she turned up that way, and if we borrow the Beast Wars story arc where she was once known as 'Binary', we can all presume one thing: that she was turned that way.<p>

Whatever the reason, we learn, with the help of the Elita-1/Blackarachnia story, that techno-organics, or even organics, cannot be detected on sometimes even the most complicated radars. Which is why, for a very long time, Cybertronians lived in fear of organic species larger and more dangerous than themselves; because they never knew when they were going to attack next.

Techno-organic = invisible robot, at least on scanners. Hence, the craze on both factions to use such technology to their advantages spread like wildfire. And when Botanica's….condition….was known to all Cybertronians, both factions wanted to know how she survived the 'conversion'.  
>After several bouts of chaos, Autobots and Decepticons alike began undergoing experiments to find a way to make this a possibility for their troops. Then biological and chemical warfare was being explored, and before you know it, things got real ugly and a terrible war broke out.<p>

I cannot remember where I got the fandom theory of Blackarachnia and the possibility of 'invisible' armies, but I know it was on DeviantArt somewhere. Gotta find where, exactly…..

...Eh, excuse my rambling. Go on and enjoy the new chapter!

If you can. This is not my best writing…*wince*

~Ylysha

Disclaimer: Transformers, and anything related to it, is not mine.  
>REPO: The Genetic Opera is also not mine.<br>Neither is the pairing. I just ship it hard.

* * *

><p><em>Imagine a building. A tall, vast building, gleaming silver beneath a grid-like sculpture.<em>

_Now imagine a bot running, out the arch of this vast building. The entrance...and the exit._

_**"Moonracer!"**_

_You see, his best friend has found out his darkest secret. That he did use other bots as experiment subjects. That he allowed innocent bots of all factions to be used that way. That he had not just a voice, but a servo, in this atrocity._

_Imagine defunct bots, the insane, even offlined shells. Needles and scalpels. Chemical and biological agents. Steroids and paralyzers. Poisons and viruses. For the War. To stop the war. Seeing what could make stronger, faster, better soldiers for the Autobots. What could make weaker, sicker, fewer troops for the Decepticons._  
><em>No one else, outside of the projects, knew about these things. About scared, lonely bots in cells, slowly going defunct, slowly losing their minds, slowly dying. Cycle by agonizing cycle.<em>

_**No, please….no, no, Primus, NO! PLEASE! I have a sparkmate in Kaon and she's sparked and I can't leave her please let me go no one will know please Primus please-you fraggers-YOU SPARKLESS FRAGGERS! AAAGGGGHHHHHHHH!**_

_Most of this information was kept in a secret, locked file on this bot's computer. No bot had to know. No bot had to find out._

_But you and I both know nothing happens the way you want it to._

_**I trusted you! You! With everything that I was! Because of you, innocent bots on both ends are in trouble and could possibly lose their lives! And you know who's spark it's gonna be on? MINE! I can't believe I was so stupid to believe you…..you were just using me! And now others are going to pay for my stupidity! ALL BECAUSE I TRUSTED YOU!  
><strong>  
>Imagine that she called him a traitor to the Autobot values. Sparkless. His best friend in the entire universe, who knew things about him even he didn't know before…<br>Shameless. Corrupted. A liar. A filthy liar. Two-faceplated. And, at least in her processor…_

_…a monster._

_Imagine this is all a solar cycle after she found out. Of course she didn't tell him straight to his faceplates. He wasn't there at the time. He wasn't there to explain himself. But he didn't have to._

_Imagine screaming, howling, crying, in a video surveillance camera. That's where he found it. Her words. Her hurtful words. It mattered not that she said them only a solar cycle ago. She found out._  
><em>But she didn't know. She didn't know everything.<em>

_He had to ensure that she did._

_**Primus, if you are real, please do not let me be too late.**_

_Imagine him transforming and driving out now, wanting to make things right. He's not very fast, but somehow, his endurance makes up for it._  
><em>He skids to a stop, and transforms back into bot mode. He looks around, trying to remember where the docks are. Because it's very likely she'd be preparing a ship, with her teammates, to leave Cybertron.<em>

_Imagine the agony in his voice as he yells her name. No response, so he runs further out and tries again. No response. His worry increases._

_There are some crates in the distance, and he sees an open ship. He runs to it, hoping it's Moonracer's ship. The shipping crates of the docks form a maze, which does not help him-except he doesn't care. If the maze is the only thing keeping him from apologizing to his best friend, for some of the worse choices in life he's made, it's an obstacle he's willing to scale. He is unable to transform due to the narrowness between crates, so he moves as quickly as he can, calling her name all the while._

_**Moonracer! Please answer me!**_

_Imagine that he isn't alone._

_Another bot has heard his cries, his subtle pleas, and stalks the sound of his voice._

_The bot is a she, and she has no intention of helping him._

_Far from it._

_**Perceptor…  
><strong>  
>It's amazing he hears anything, but it's terrifying to hear his name being hissed from an invisible tracker. His energon freezes.<em>

_**You son of a glitch…**_

_He increases his speed, hoping to find his best friend and confess everything to her, and maybe, just maybe, get away from the voice._

_**You don't want me finding you….**_

_One klik he's running, the next klik he is being smashed into the side of a crate. Through the pain-induced haze, he registers the sight of a cobalt-blue finish._

_**Because you won't like what happens if I do.**_

_Imagine his assailant is Chromia. And she is furious._

_**Chromia…what…..what are you doing?**_

_I was going to ask you the same question._

_She's not normally so strong, but when emotions are high and self-control is low, it makes for a dangerous combination. With one toss of her servo, she sends him sprawling into a wider space of the maze._

_**"Moonracer, oh Moonracer"**, she mocks his earlier cries, her voice rising in volume.** You honestly think my apprentice is just your friend, only your unforgiving friend? She trusted you, and you broke it-  
><strong>  
><strong>-I know-<strong>_

_Smack._

_**Don't talk! You've had so many opportunities to say the right things, make everything better. But did you do it? DID YOU? No, you selfish son-of-a-glitch!**_

_Smack smack._

_**Don't talk anymore, or I swear I'll offline you right now!**_

_Chromia, I only want to speak with Moonie-_

_**-What did I say?**_

_Punch._

_**WHAT THE FRAG DID I JUST SAY? I'm going to offline you right now!**_

_She picks him off the dirty ground, only to hold him high while she delivers blow after fatal blow to his shell._

_**Please, I never meant-**_

**_You-_**

**_-never meant to hurt Moonracer-_**

**_-deserve-_**

**-didn't think she'd find out-**

**-to-**

**_-please, Moonracer-_**

**_-die-_**

**_-let me at least tell her-_**

**_-you-_**

**_-everything; why I did it-_**

_**-sparkless-  
><strong>  
><strong>-please, Chromia-<strong>_

**_-FRAGGER!_**

_**-I LOVE HER!**_

_Imagine the stillness that follows. It stretches for only a few sparkbeats, but it feels like an entire Cybertronian lifetime. It is the deepest silence of a dead moon, the silence heard at the bottom of an ocean on an organic planet, the silence that follows a true confession._

_**Liar.**_

_The silence of a grave._

_**No, I swear-  
><strong>  
><strong>-You dare say that heap of slag! After all you've done, after all you've put her through?<strong>_

_She shakes him with every word, smashing him against the ground. He can do nothing except whimper and pray that she would stop. His struggles, his attempts to pull her servos off of him are fruitless._

_**After all you've put so many other bots through! Moonracer is just one of 5,000+ bots that suffered because of you! And I ought to put their processors at ease and just kill you now!**_

**_Chromia-please-_**

_She glances at his optics and holds his terrified gaze for a few tense moments, then finally throws him on the ground and leaves him there, clutching her head and unleashing an unholy scream._

_**UUUUUUAAAAAAAGGGGHHHHHHHH!**_

_Imagine that she can't kill him. No matter how much he deserves it, she can't find it in herself to do it. Because she's an Autobot? Because of his love for her apprentice, whom she sees and treats like a daughter? Because he isn't the only one? Because murder isn't right? Because he's quintessential to the Autobot cause? Because everyone deserves a second chance? No one knows._

_Not even…._

_**…Chromia? **_

_She throws him a look that, if he wasn't terrified already, would scare him to death now._

_**Just because I can't kill you…..doesn't mean I can't finish the job.****Wha-what are you going to…?**_

_His question is cut off by a landing pad being smashed on his faceplates. He tries to scream, but he knows his screams are muffled by Chromia's landing pad keeping his vocal receptor closed. Then he feels it._

_A servo pulling off his chassis pillar cover, exposing any vital wiring, all joining at his voice box._

_His voice box._

_Dear Primus._

_Imagine her reaching in and, closing her digits around his exposed voice box, yanking it. Trying to extract it._

_His screams rise, even though he knows very well that no bot can hear._

_No._

_He thinks to himself._

_**It cannot end like this.**_

_He struggles, feebly, one more time, trying to kick, push, do anything to get her off of so he could get to Moonracer._

_Then it stops. The awful sensation stops. He allows himself a silver of hope. If she couldn't go through killing him, perhaps she couldn't go through trying to tear out his voice box. He feels her digits still, but perhaps…perhaps…_

_**If my girls and I ever come back, and she, by some miracle, she remembers you, you fragger….**_

_And his hopes are dashed with her last statement._

_**Don't you dare touch her.**_

_With one mighty pull, she sets the scene._

_He is the convicted, and she the executioner._

_She is the deliverer of divine justice, and he is the scum that has to pay for his atrocities._

_They will be on the same side, but will forever be in conflict with one another._

_Some of his energon flies out in a sickly spray, splattering everything from her chassis down. His energon drips off of her right servo, the servo that holds his now extracted voice box. In the place where his voice box once was, there remains sizzling wires and flying sparks and energon gathers in the gap and gushes out in rivers…_

_As the rest of his energon flows out of his now weakly spasming body, he has just enough in him to see her hold her right fist just in front of her faceplates, close her optics, and almost breathe in her success of fulfilling her mission. Instead of even a ghost of a smile, her entire faceplate is deep in thought as she stands up straight and watches him._

_Imagine the twitching of his body, caused by ruptured nervous wiring in his shell. The energon pooling in the empty space of his chassis pillar and choking out whatever words he could manage to say. The life slowly fading away from him._

_**Let's see how many lies you'll be able to say now, Scientist.**_

_He looks up at her. As the darkness begins to cloud everything, he manages to move his vocal labi one more time._

_**I am sorry.**_

_Her once thoughtful faceplates crumple into a frown, and she simply turns around and walks away. Even with the incriminating splatter of shed energon on her stabilizing servos, her one right arm and the severed Cybertronian part in its servo, and the scratches that indicated someone had to struggle against her, she calmly walks away._

_Leaving the Scientist in a slowly increasing pool of energon, his vocal receptor hanging open. Left for dead in a maze of shipping crates. Regretting everything._

_And if you thought all that could not get any worse, and that your imagination can't take anymore, that is not the worse part._

_All this…the pleading, the beating, the screaming, the bleeding, the regretting…_

_…is not in your imagination._

_This happened. All of this happened._

_It was all real. Agonizingly real._

_Perhaps it is better, then, that he doesn't remember._

_She..._

_…she will never forget._

**A Mighty Dark Plot**

or

_A story of political candidates, a gruesome discovery, a suspicious note, the talk of intellects, barging in, an unexpected friend and the songs she sings, finding the half-truths, echoes of the past, and the thoughts that __**plague**__ a doctor-who-is-actually-a-scientist._

_**{Six solar cycles after the return of Chromia Minor and her team to Cybertron }  
><strong>__  
><em>[Red Alert's Private Laboratories, The _Guild Scientius_] 

"They're considering making Chromia _Pro Temporare _Magnus."

The only indication of emotion I get from Firestar is a slight widening of her optics. But it's clear between the two of us: neither of us expected it.

"Who?"

"Chromia-"

"-No, I know you said Chromia. I mean, who's considering?"

"The High Council, of course."

"What gave them the idea that 'Mia would be a good Acting Magnus? Her temper, for one, is just as bad as Sentinel's. You've heard them argue-"

"-No, no I haven't."

She gives me a relieved look. "Oh, good. You wouldn't want to, believe me." Despite her high heel struts, as we enter the recovery ward of the Guild Scientius, Firestar gracefully makes her way over to a table where she can place down her elbow joint, plop her chin into her servo, and plant her aft in the nearest chair.

I remove my medic brace off my head with my one good servo, and place it down carefully.

"That makes three candidates in the running for Acting Magnus: Rodimus, Optimus, and Chromia. All young leaders, all students of Kup Minor, all good, upstanding Autobots…this is going to be difficult….deciding who makes it in….."

"Well, Optimus Prime is out of the running", a new voice breaks the quiet of the ward.

"Ironfist. Where'd you come from?"

He looks at me, as if though slightly offended. "Am I invisible? First Wheeljack, now you, Red? Well-"

"Hold it", Firestar interrupts in her fatigue-laden voice. "Now what do you mean, 'Optimus is out of the running'?"

"Just as it sounds. He told me a solar cycle ago. Said he wasn't ready. Whatever that means."

"Primes have a strange process-coding", the red-and-orange rescue bot mumbles.

"You're telling me."

My new office in the Guild Scientius is a fairly large, circular room, pale blue wall against a dark gray floor. It's located next to the recovery ward, which means we're next to Hoist's office.

"You're taking your medic brace off, Red?"

"I'm not working as a medic at the moment, which means I can take it off as long as I keep it close to me."

"Ah."

"Is this your laboratory?", my fire-colored friend murmurs.

"Wha-oh, no, just the recovery ward of the Guild. Would you guys like to come and see?"

"Oh, no, I already did", says Ironfist. "Remember? Some of the stuff in there are my inventions. And then when Wheeljack and I surprise-presented it to you. Remember?"

I allow myself a small smile. "Yeah, I remember. If you're just going to retreat back to your labs-"

"-hmm. Maybe not. I guess I shall come with you guys. If you're okay with it….I mean, I don't really like being a bother to anyone…."

"…..No. No, don't worry about it, Ironfist. Come, join us."

The three of us walk to my laboratory, taking the elevator in lieu of stairs because of 'Star's heel struts. We talk a little, about my time with Team Athenia, Firestar's adventures with her team, Skyfall, the bot that kept taking credit for many of Ironfist's work. We finally come to the touchpad-activated door to my labs, and I dial the correct codes. The white orb in the middle of the red, two-paneled door disappears with the right panel, and a clap from my servos turns on the lights.

"Woah, bright. BRIGHT", 'Star exclaims with a small groan. Her optics shutter once, then twice, adjusting to the light.

Right, I forgot. She's not fond of extremely bright, pale light. Had something to do with her time in Torkulon, she says.

"That's certainly new", says the younger weaponsmith. I would ask what, but he quickly makes his way over to the foremost table in the labs, and picks up a container with a datapad attached to it. I come over to his side, pulling Firestar along, looking at the cylindrical container and seeing that it's clear except for something floating around in it.

"What is it, Red?"

"Here, give it to me."

He gently sets it back on the table and slides it to me.  
>The table has several drawers, and I take out a disposable scoop with slits, a long pair of tweezers, and some clean blotting sheets. Out of other drawers I quickly take out protective masks for the three of us.<p>

"Red, I highly doubt it's a chemical or biological agent of some sort", groans the rescue bot, but she obediently pulls her mask over her faceplates so that it covers her optics, olfactory sensor, vocal receptor, and audio receptors with a protective, antibiotic, non-corrosive polycoating. Ironfist, having refused the mask as half his faceplates are shielded, places on the ruddy red goggles he usually has on his head and runs to close up the entire lab.

"You bots are crazy."

"Better crazy than sorry", I reply, securing my own mask as Wheeljack's apprentice gives me a thumb-up. The container is very sturdy, so I poke around it and try to find some way to open it. I place my tool-servo on one end, and three prongs spring open and twist it. The lid screws off and pops into my servo, and I scoop out the floating object and carefully place it down on some blotting sheets I laid out. Using the microscopic lenses in my left servo, I observe our little discovery closer.

The object is Cybertronian in nature, that much I can tell. The liquid in the container has not eaten through the blotting sheets, so the acidity level is benign. Using the tweezers, I turn it over and pick at it carefully.

"A Cybertronian part", Firestar concludes. She knows basic medical necessities due to her job, as well as her brief studies at my alma mater, Protihex Medical University.  
>"Question is: which part? Looking at the size and intricate wiring, I'd say it's any part from the chassis pillar upward. It's too cubical in shape to be a part of a servo or landing pad….is it?"<p>

It is. Ironfist appears to be mildly impressed, though I hardly concentrate on that as the three of us lean it to scrutinize it. I attempt to remember what certain parts look like. Anything from a processor will not have splintered wiring, it's too angular to be an audio receptor, and vocal labi and olfactory sensors are protoplasmic globs that will only take shape on a faceplate.  
>Anything from the chassis pillar upward….the chassis pillar itself is mostly wires contained in the chassis pillar, or, depending on the body type, covered by a chassis pillar cover. The largest part, really, in the chassis pillar is….<p>

…a voice box.

I inspect the object one more time. If it is a voice box, there should be at least one main Energon wire going through it. This wire is usually the strongest of the bunch. Energon wires in a Cybertronian are usually identifiable by the energon staining the inside, but they can also be identified by the tight spiral design, instead of the usual tube-like appearance of most vital wires.

"Voice boxes are always cubical in shape", I say out loud.

"What?"

"You heard me." I gently scoop it up, drop it back in the container, and tightly close it.

"So is it…?"

"Yes. A severed Cybertronian voice box."

"Nice", Firestar mutters, looking conspicuously at the container and pulling off her mask.

"The biggest question is: Why is there a severed voice box, in a jar of Cybertronian formaldehyde, in my laboratories?"

Ironfist is two steps ahead, having taken off his mask and already reading the datapad that had been attached to the side of the container.

"_To whom this concerns, aka the Trustworthy Few of the Guild Scientius,_

_If you 'geniuses'_-offensive much?-_haven't already figured it out, what you see floating about in the jar is a voice box. I know that one of your own is missing his own voice box. Don't ask how, for it's a very long story you'll find out eventually. It seems I've actually done you all a favor, or at least for this one bot._

_You're probably wondering what I want in return. What do I want in exchange for this completely free, no-wires-attached, working condition, convenient gift? Well, confidentiality would be great. But other than that…..nothing, nothing at all._

_At least, nothing material._

_I know that one of your own has a Primus-awful case of amnesia. I really wouldn't have given a frag, except that this one bot, having forgotten some of his memories, is also hurting somebot I care about._

_And no bot hurts someone I love._

_All I demand in return is for you trusted few to find out what the frag happened. Every bot buys the 'deletion of emotions' scrap, but all of you and I know both know there's more to the recipient of this voice box than that. Please….I'm asking you please….find out what's going on._

_All pertinent information can be placed on this datapad. I will leave Cybertron, at the least, in a stellar cycle's time. You all have until then to find what you need. You must leave it for me in Trypticon Prison, with a bot designated 'Sureshock'. If you can do that, I would appreciate it._

_Also, find out what Wheeljack knows on the subject. He knows something none of us know, not even our voice box-less friend._

_I make no threats on the Guild, because I know despite how insane some of you will think I am, I know at least some of the Trusted will help me. You all know who you are._

_Good luck with that. Carrying it around for as long as I did was nasty._

Your ally,

The Metallurgist.

…well, that's helpful", the younger weaponsmith mumbles.

"At least we know some psychopath didn't leave it here as a 'warning' parcel. What do you think, Red?"

_**Out! GET OUT! GET OUT OF MY LABS!**_

"Nothing", I mumble. Firestar bends down on her heels to look at me.

"Sure…" she retorts with an almost bored tone.

_**Please, Red, PLEASE! **_

"I'm thinking. Can't I think in my own labs?"

"I've spent approximately one thousand stellar cycles, living in the same ship, with an ill-tempered gunslinger for a leader, an emotional sharpshooter for a repairbot, a soft-spoken singer for a medic, and a crazy jokester for a strategist. Those femmes are the reason I don't recharge too good. Do not try to fool me; I can tell when you're lying through your denta."  
><em><strong><br>Why should I risk my aft to help him? I 'know nothing', according to him. I 'have no spark', according to him. Go find someone else stupid enough to-**_

**-I know he wasn't very kind to you recently, but please, if we don't help him, he'll offline!**

"Perceptor called her a 'glitch' once", blurts Ironfist, but the moment it's in the air, he claps one servo over his mask where I assume his vocal receptor is.

My anger flares up. If he were any other bot's apprentice, I would've cracked his head open with my tools-servo by now.

**He deserves it!**

Firestar is strangely calm about the whole thing. "Is that so?", she asks me with optics that are neither condemning nor comforting, scolding nor soothing, just wanting to know the truth.  
><em><strong><br>We all say things that hurt one another. Is that to say we should all be offlined?  
><strong>_  
>Suddenly the memories flood back. His hurt, my anger, my cracking him across the faceplates so hard he topples and falls to the floor.<p>

_"You could lose your job and reputation for that, Red Alert."_

_"I don't give a frag! I don't care. Fire me if you want, because I quit!"_

_"You'll have nothing but your friends if you can't get work anywhere!"_

_"At least I have friends!"_

_"…..you…..you glitch…..you sparkless GLITCH..."_

I had left his labs melting in my fury.  
><em><strong><br>Red, he's losing energon! Please, Red Alert. I'm begging you.  
><strong>_  
>"Sorry-wait, no, I'm not sorry! I mean, I'm sorry that my words hurt, but—AHH! I'm sorry, but I think you acting like this over something that's happened so long ago is ridiculous."<br>_**  
>Please.<strong>_

I let out a deep sigh I didn't realize I had been holding.

"It's not that I'm still mad-it's just-it wasn't pleasant, yes, but….when we had our argument….it was just a solar cycle before….the accident."

**…Very well. I will help him just this once.**

"You feel whatever happened to him was your fault, in a way", murmurs Firestar from her seat.

"Well-"

"-Unless you actually laid a servo on him, or tore out his voice box, or acted maliciously towards him in any way, you are not to blame."

"Still", I can't help but reply.

_**Thank you, Red. Thank you.**_

"It's not like I was much help after the accident."

"What accident?"

What is it with these new voices? And does anyone have the decency to at least make themselves present before intruding in on private conversation? And how did anyone get in when we've locked everything?

"The accident that cost Perceptor his voice box", the fire-colored femme answers automatically, though she does a double take when she sees who the source of this voice is.

The newest voice to our conversation is an organic. Similar in anatomy to the techno-organic Sari Sumdac, her finish is a cool-toned color, somewhat lighter than Sari's complexion. Her optics appear to be a dark brown encased with white, and the pelt on her head is black. Her plating is not very substantial; just a turquoise blue chassis covering, crimson red plating that protected everything from her pistons to the middle of her thighs, and grey landing pad covers. She is pulling off the brown plating of her tiny servos as we speak.

"Oh, hi, Verity", Ironfist says warmly, picking her off the floor and placing her on the table.

"Who?"

"Oh, don't worry 'bout it, 'Fist. Let me. How ya doin', Miss-"

"Firestar. Firestar of Kalis."

"Can I just call ya Firestar? Cool. The name's Verity Carlo, Official Scribe and Ambassador of Technologic-Organic Interspecies Relations, according to Ultra Magnus. But you can call me Verity. Just Verity."

"How did you even get in, Verity? Everything here is sealed in very tightly, so that not even a speck of dust could get in."

"There's a slight crack in one of your windows, Red", she responds, appearing very pleased with herself. I am less so. A crack anywhere in my labs would've resulted badly had I been working with more complex substances and projects.

"Eh, it wasn't my fault, in case you're wondering. It was already there. Is that the voice box thing?"

"Yes." Ironfist carries her closer to the jar, and being taller than it, the Earth organic bends down and peers into the foggy glass.  
>"Oh, cool. It's got that gory, creepy feel to it."<p>

"Huh?"

"Human talk for 'that looks really awesome'."

"You scare me sometimes, Verity."

"I scare everyone. Whose is it?""It belongs to Perceptor."

"Does it? Hopefully it gives him a better voice. Not that creepy monotone he talks with all the time. I swear, hearing him speak is like having all the energy in a room sucked out through a straw."

A cycle later, the four of us approach Perceptor's shared labs with Wheeljack. I ask for either Firestar or Verity to see if it's okay to open up. Before anyone can say anything else, Verity simply climbs down from her spot on Ironfist's knee joint and slips under a space beneath the paneled door.

It's disturbing, sometimes, just how much she's learned during her very short time here on Cybertron.

"I'm proud of you, Red", Ironfist suddenly says.

Hesitantly I respond. "Whatever for?"

"Well, I know of….your history….with Percy, and thanks to my vocal receptor, so does Firestar. But I'm glad that despite of whatever shells in the closet you've learned to forgive him. Despite of it, you've learned to help him when he needed it."

"Hmmm. Something like that."

The doors slide open, and we see Wheeljack tinkering with something. He looks up at us.

"Hey, all of you. Hey, Verity. What do you need?"

"Where's Perceptor?"

He points to another corner of the labs, where Perceptor is also working on something.

"Perceptor. We need you to drop whatever you're doing."

"I am busy."

"What did I tell you? Energy sucker voice", the only organic in the room mutters.

"You seem to have time to tinker. I'm sure you'll have time for this." I hold the container out in my right servo.

"Is that….what I think it is?" Wheeljack is suddenly standing there, taking the container from me and turning it over in his servos.

"Woah, woah, fragile contents, 'Jack".

"I know, Red, it's just….." The inventor strides over to the scientist, forcibly takes out whatever tool he had in his servo, and promptly holds the container in front of his faceplates.

"Do you know what this is, Percy?"

"A Cybertronian voice box. And please do not call me 'Percy'."

"Yeah, yeah…..Percy."

Was that irritation I just saw on his faceplates?

"Do you realize you are probably the only bot without one of these? What you have in your chassis pillar, Perce, is a fake. An audio synthesizer. Not an actual voice box, not like this one."

"…Are you implying I need this? I have gotten by for approximately one thousand stellar cycles with the voice that I have now. And why was my voice box replaced with a synthesizer? I would think there was no need for that."

He doesn't remember. He doesn't remember? Perhaps that was why he didn't object when the Council placed me back into the Guild.

"What's that supposed to mean? You don't remember….how you lost this?"

"No."

Something's not right.

The engineer looks at me, then places the container on the table. "Hey, Verity, c'mere, and please keep an optic on this. Now, back to you, Red…..how did you even get this?"

I pull him away from his partner and the Earth organic, out of hearing range. I reveal everything, including the datapad that his apprentice brought with him.

"Well, Ironfist is right. There are many metallurgists of Cybertronian origin, both Autobots and Decepticons. Any one of them might know how Percy lost this to begin with."

"Why does Perceptor not remember such a thing? I would think, however traumatic, that one would remember how they lost a _part_."

Out of the corner of my optic, I see Ironfist fold his support servos across his chassis and fixate his optics upon Wheeljack with an almost angry look.

"I-I can think of one thing. But it's not something any of you would-"

"-_Don't you dare touch her_."

If it weren't for the familiar monotone, I would've assumed yet another voice intruded the Guild. But the peculiar words come from the scientist's own vocal receptor, and they silence everyone in the labs.

"Sorry?"

Everyone except me.

The scientist does not respond for a nanoklik, instead blankly staring at the container. Verity begins to wave her arms and attempt other wild actions to distract Perceptor, but to no avail. Wheeljack slowly walks over to him, pressing the female organic lightly against her head to make her stop. At the slightest touch of his servo against the microscope's shoulderpad, he snaps out of it and lightly shakes his head to brush his partner off.

"Nothing important. Must've been….", he trails off, obviously not sure what that was.

I'm not too sure, either. But I want to find out.

Another awkward silence fills the air, broken only by the organic's impatient inquiry.

"Well? We stickin' this thing back in your neck or what?"

"What's a 'neck'?"

"-Oh, right!" She smacks her tiny servo against her fleshy faceplates. "Alien robots = different language….um…our word for chassis pillar, 'Fist. Yeah. As for you, you honking microscope, I think a voice change is good for you. You'll still probably sound like a giant nerd, but at least you'll sound like you have feelings."

"But he doesn't have any emotions. He deleted them a very long time ago", I feel inclined to remind Verity.

Ironfist looks over at Wheeljack and folds his support servos across his chassis, the same almost-angry expression from before, except now the lower half of his faceplates is uncovered, an unusual frown crumpled in his vocal receptor. Wheeljack shutters his optics closed. Firestar gives everyone a confused look.

"Is that even possible?"

"Yes", I whisper to her, quiet enough so Perceptor or Verity can't hear. "Perceptor was under a lot of stress, nearing the end of the Great War. I suppose to be a better scientist, to be more productive to the Autobot cause, and…..to avoid hurting others, he did that. He chose to delete them. And no one else is to blame."

"You've forgiven him." The white engineer has a look of incredulity across his faceplates.

No matter how much I'd like to, I find myself unable to retort to that.

"Forgiving and forgetting are two different things, Red. I'm just glad you are able to follow the better path."

"Is it the better path if the one you're forgiving doesn't even know?"

"_…Goth opera, blood saga…sometimes I wonder how we ever got here…old grudges, scorned lovers...sometimes I wonder why we all don't move on!"_

Everyone looks down.

"Verity, I thought I asked you to watch the container."

"Bah, Percy's doing so well at that already. Look, he's just starin' at it."

"You sing rather nicely. Not like Greenlight, but….it's certainly an interesting song. I've been hearing you sing it all this while."

"Thanks, Firestar. And the song...it's an old song, from an old musical..about the future, set in the future. Saw it when I was 18. Loved it ever since. _Old grudges, scorned lovers…sometimes I wonder why we all don't move on! _LOVE that part. Didn't necessarily mean to intrude, but your little situation here is similar to the story of _REPO: The Genetic Opera. _So yeah, I am being nosy and I'm sorry that your lives suck more than mine, but I am not sorry for interrupting with REAL MUSIC."

"Although her little tune's got a point. Why can't you all move on? Forgiveness is not for the forgiven", Ironfist murmurs, looking at the three of us, one after the other. When he pins his gaze on me, there's something that I don't see in a lot of younger bots like him. "It's for the forgiver. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm-"

"-If this is absolutely necessary, then I yield to whatever procedures this will take", Perceptor's voice rings out in the rather long distance between us.

The largest of the present bots tilts his head a little and looks at his partner. "Well, that's a first."

"What is?"

Ironfist leans over to whisper in Firestar's audio receptor. "Yielding to major medical procedures of any sort. Percy doesn't like being touched. Ergo, he finds-or tries to-find some way to avoid medical checkups from Hoist as much as possible. It usually involves 'Jack having to stick a tranq dart in him somewhere and cart him off."

I try not to chuckle. Honestly, had I known Perceptor was afraid of doctors, I would stayed in the Guild a little longer. Oh well.  
>The white engineer walks over to him and the two begin talking. The fire-colored rescue bot picks up the voice-box container and the datapad that had been attached to it, and looks it all over.<p>

"May I ask you a question, Red?"

"Sure, Ironfist."

"Suppose, just suppose, Percy didn't delete his emotions. He tried to, but he ended up deleting….I don't know, memories. Hence why he can't remember a thing. Just suppose, for a klik."

"That….would make a lot more sense. Perhaps why he isn't so hostile around me anymore."

"So, he doesn't remember a thing. Which I guess would be good as energon, seeing what happened a thousand stellar cycles ago, what with the vicious rumors of corruption and everyone treating him like slag-except for 'Jack, naturally-and Moonracer leaving him and whatnot.

He doesn't remember a thing from, I'm guessing, from the start of the War to about the time of the accident….but only _Wheeljack_knew this at first. Thanks to my nosiness and big vocal receptor, now you, Moonracer, and Firestar know. And maybe Percy as well.

How did the Metallurgist know about even Perceptor's lack of a voice box? Add that the Metallurgist knew how to access your labs, having returned the voice box in formaldehyde and working condition, and mentioned Wheeljack in his or her note.

Call me crazy, and you probably will, but there was something really bad, and Percy, whether or not he was actually involved, got tangled up in it. Something so bad not even my mentor could know about it. And when the Metallurgist found out about it, they extracted his voice box….by force. Because they thought he was the main source of the problem.

Now they send us that container. He or she says 'I make no threats on the Guild', but that's because the Guild is not their main target. Perceptor is. He is the head of the MoS, and by sending us that, they're saying 'I know where Perceptor works. I know how to get in.' And if metallurgist is their occupation, and not just a designation, then Perceptor could offline at the wrong end of a pistol when no one else is around, since he's practically the only bot that works overtime, all the time."

"Alright then", I reply, running my good red servo on my head. "You are crazy."

"GAHH!", he hisses in frustration. "You're not hearing me out."

"The Metallurgist is our ally", I remind him. "And if they didn't want Perceptor to remember, or, better yet, bother them, they wouldn't have given us back his voice box."

"Maybe they want him to remember. That way, they could get whatever information they wanted to, then offline him. Perceptor's in trouble!"

He stares at me with crazed optics. I stare back as stoically as I can.

"You read too many Wrecker-related things, Ironfist." I walk past him, brushing into him as he lets out another exasperated sound. I walk as if my only concern is returning Percy's voice box to him.

Though I can't help but wonder if he's right.  
>Rumors and skeptical colleagues are not enough to push a bot over the edge. My angry words could not be enough to make him desire to delete his emotions. And when I had inspected the injury all those stellar cycles ago, I found that the rupturing did indicate that his voice box had been extracted by force.<p>

What I want to know: By who?

And why?

Firestar suddenly holds the container in front of my faceplates.

"Shall we?"

Yes. Let's start getting to the bottom of this.

* * *

><p>This is the most long-winded chapter I have ever written. Oi.<p>

Anyway, as a parting note, a metallurgist is anyone that works with guns. They don't necessary have to be gunslingers themselves, but a trade a metallurgist takes part in is the making of firearms.

Knowing is half the battle.

~Ylysha


	7. Questions of Science

HAPPY HOLIDAYS, my lovelies.

The next chapter will be up in a few days, since I now have a break from work and time to write. Hopefully. Being the eldest child in the house, though, there's a lot of things I just know I have to concentrate on, so meh.

Well, let's get this over with. You read story, I pray it doesn't suck too much, we both wait for next chapter which **should **be up before/on Christmas.

Hopefully, you all got this. I made some slight changes to my charts, and I'll soon be adding in a distance chart, but until then, a quick review:

Body parts (all approximate, and the anatomical chart I use for my stories):

Hands = Servos  
>Arms = Support Servos<br>Legs = Stabilizing Servos  
>Tongue = Glossa<br>Feet = Landing Pads  
>Shoulders and Knees = Shoulderpads and kneepads, respectively<br>Eyes = Optics  
>Fingers = Digits<br>Hips = Pistons  
>Lips = Lip Components<br>Mouth = Vocal Receptor  
>Teeth = Denta<br>Ears = Audio Receptor  
>Neck = Chassis Pillar<br>Torso/Chest = Chassis  
>Body = FrameShell  
>Brain = Processor<br>Sections of brain = Lobes

And time (all approximate, and the chronological chart I use for my stories):

Any time less than a second = Microklik  
>Second = Nanoklik<br>Minute = Klik  
>8.3 Minutes = Breem<br>Hour = Cycle  
>6 Hours = Joor<br>Day (both day and night) = Solar Cycle  
>Week = Decacycle<br>Month = Orbital Cycle  
>6 MonthsHalf a Stellar Cycle = Orn  
>Year = Stellar Cycle<br>83 Years = Vorn  
>Approx. 100 years = Megacycle<p>

Hope this helps.

Let me know what you really think of this chapter, considering the format I used for it.

And I fixed the intro thing so that it looks pretty! Huzzah!

Disclaimer: _Transformers: Animated_ is not mine. Neither are the characters. Bah, humbug.

* * *

><p>No one ever said it was easy.<p>

_**No one ever said it would be this hard.**_

_We're not asking you to assassinate him or anything._

_Wrong choice of words, Lancer._

_What? It's true, isn't it? We're only asking you to find anything to prove that he's dirty._

_Slaggit, Lancer, there's nothing to prove. You hear me?_

_Did…did MOONRACER just swear?_

_She's capable of swearing, you idiot, and also capable of shooting something important off if you don't shut up._

_Yeah. Calm down, sweetspark._

_Only Chromia gets to call me that!_

_Why are you getting so upset about it?_

_Over the 'sweetspark' comment?_

_Over what we're asking of you._

_You're kidding, right? My best friend? One of 'those' bots?_

_No one is immune to corruption in this war. Especially high-seated bots like him._

_Drift, you told me-you told all of us-that your rich bot-hating solar cycles are over._

_I never said that._

_Look, Moonracer, we're not asking you to call him out on it._

_Shouldn't I? Maybe I should. Maybe then you'd believe me._

_It's not you we're worried about._

_Not him. Not Perceptor. I know some of his colleagues; they would be those sort of bots. If drafting, and immoral experiments, and testing and using bots against their wills would give us the upper servo in this war, those bots would do it. But not Perceptor. No._

_Wait, Moonracer. Before you finish that, what makes you think I hate him based on his income? I don't hate bots based on how many credits they have lining their accounts, or what kind of high-grade they can afford to sip, or how high their fancy towers are, or-_

_-Drift, you're doing it again._

_…..Sorry, Lancer._

_He's got a point, Moonie. What gives?_

_I know what many of you are probably thinking. Perceptor is fairly well off compared to some bots. A place to recharge. Energon whenever he needs it. Mass resources at his disposal. A large, safe place to work and rest. And his intelligence. No bot ever forgets about that._  
><em>Despite how conservative of his resources he is, and how often he recharges, much less consumes, some of can only focus on the one thing he seems to have that we don't: power. He's a higher-up bot, answering to the Council sometimes, rich enough to support himself for the rest of his orns.<em>  
><em>Except he's never taken advantage of it.<em>  
><em>He isn't arrogant, or boastful.<em>  
><em>He will talk to bots like you and me if the subject of conversation is interesting enough.<em>  
><em>And he always ensures that resources used in the Guild are responsibly sourced.<em>  
><em>Beachcomber, that means no energon trees or sentient organics are offlined. Or killed. Whatever. Drift, that means no offline shells. Chromia, that means no unwilling subjects dying, or becoming ill or insane. All of you, that means don't lump in Percy with the bad bots, just because he's got a processor like the majority of them.<em>

_HE WORKS WITH THEM. He's under the same pressure to find some damn miracle cure, or superweapon, or whatever doohickey it'll take to end this fragging war-_

_-Chromia-_

_-He's as much of a bot as all of us are. He is capable of slipping up._

_-This I know. But where's the proof that one slip-up of his is costing the lives of many?_

_You…you never saw the video feeds?_

_…what video feeds?_

_Just as it sounds. You've never seen what we've caught visually._

_No. I haven't._

_You want to see?_

_Chromia, is that wise?_

_Moonie here is a smart bot. She won't believe words alone, just like me. Greenlight-_

_-hold on, Greenlight?_

_Yes, Greenlight._

_Wait…..what?_

_It's-it's a long story-_

_-She went undercover as an experimental subject for war experiments of the Guild Scientius. What she managed to record using her holographic optics is NOT something she could've fabricated with mere use of her processor, believe me._

_Let me see._

_Moonracer-_

_-Let her, Drift. Let her._

_Trust me, Moonracer. There are some things you are better off not knowing._

_Let me, all of you. I want to see the feeds for myself._

_You won't like what you're going to see. C'mon, Green, bring it here._

_Okay, I know none of you are listening to me, but I have a really bad feeling about all of this-_

_-hush up, swordsbot. We're watching something here._

_Oh, no._

_…what…what is that…wha-oh, Primus…Primus, what is that…..and what are they going to do to him-OH, PRIMUS, WHY?!-what is this?!-why…..how…oh, no….what are they putting in her chassis…and why are they tying those two bots together…PRIMUS!...oh….oh,no….oh, please, Primus, no…_

_…..fraggit, I can't watch._

_What, the video feeds?_

_This. All this. Why are we all here watching her expression? Why are we all here while it's only her that needs to see this?_

_We're not. We are making sure she knows the truth._

_You are messed up, Chromia. You, forcing your apprentice to watch what looks like her best friend, sticking scapels and other sharp objects into other bots, being splattered with energon in the faceplates, looking possessed and empty._

_She's a grown femme. She can leave if she wishes._

_When all of us watched this, no bot wanted to leave. First Aid. Beachcomber. Even Jazz. What would they say if they saw what you made Greenlight do? You're gonna pay for all this one solar cycle, Chromia._

_Drift, please. I never made Greenlight reveal the holographic video feeds. Never made Moonracer say she wanted to watch them. Never made any of you say you want to watch them._

_You manipulated all of those bots. What would Elita-1 think of all this?_

_She would've done something about it. Got some members of the League to investigate him. She would definitely-_

_-NNNNNNNNOOOOOOO!_

_….uh-oh._

_Somebot contact First Aid or Firestar. We need either of them to-_

_-no._

_What?_

_I said no. I don't need medical attention right now._

_What do you mean?_

_I SAID I DON'T NEED ANY FRAGGING MEDICAL ATTENTION RIGHT NOW!_

_Cancel the calls, everyone._

_I….I need space. Please, please, I need space. I-I can't-_

_-Moonracer, no one wanted to find out this way. We didn't want you to find out this way._

_How-how was this possible?_

_Easy. The bots that are above Perceptor, bots that are supposed to keep him in line, are just as corrupt as he is._

_My best friend is not corrupt! He…was coerced to, I'm sure!_

_Who would coerce him to do any of this? It's like you said. He's protected. Any bot that had reason to make him perform immoral experiments couldn't get within a five vob radius of him without getting in some serious trouble._

_He wasn't that bot. He wasn't. He…never. Never could be that bot._

_Moonracer-_

_-I've got this. Look, Moonie, honestly: we could all be that bot. The bot that's willing to lay down morals and the lives of other bots to win a war that's damaged mechs and femmes in so many ways. Because we feel that if we don't, the war will continue, and more bots will offline for causes neither side seems to remember after so long._

_Lancer-_

_-I'm sorry, Moonracer. I am. But trust me. My cousin doesn't-couldn't-lie about something like this._

_What-what did Chromia say when she found out? Even if she hadn't just left, she wouldn't be in the mood to answer if I asked._

_She said she wanted his offline shell mounted on her wall._

_NO._

_…..she means it, doesn't she? She'd do it if she had enough motivation to?_

_Not if I give her reason not to. You'll see. You'll all see. Perceptor is not that bot I just saw, cutting open screaming bots and desecrating offline shells and helping to create chemical warfare explosives. He isn't. I'll find the truth. And I'll straighten this whole thing out._

_Moonracer-_

_-Stop._

No one said it would be easy.

_**Well, no one ever said it would be this hard.**_

* * *

><p><strong> Questions of Science, Science and Progress<strong>

or

_ A story of the thoughts of a mysterious scribe, pseudonyms, playing guardian/matchmaker, the secret of many, an inconvenient revelation, an aftermath, and a small silver of hope._

_**{Three megacycles after the return of Chromia Major and her team to Cybertron }  
><strong>__  
><em>[The Guild Scientius]_  
><em>

**Category: Personal Projects [CONFIDENTIAL]  
>Project: PENUMBRA<br>File Type: Personal Logs  
>Subjects: CONFIDENTIAL<br>Course of Study: DISTANT OBSERVATION and light EXPERIMENTATION  
>Reason(s): CONFIDENTIAL<br>Head of Project: Fisitron**

Description: Please contact Head of Project for more information. Further information will not be disclosed within confines of file.

Entry #1 - Fisitron:

This is the first of what I hope will be many, many entries. But not too many. At least, I'm just hoping PENUMBRA ends well.

It's been fifteen solar cycles since Subject Alpha had his surgery. He has fully recovered and is speaking as if the vocal synthesizer thing was all a joke.

An extremely sick, twisted-as-the-Pit, joke.

It has also been three megacycles since Subject Kappa and the crew of her ship returned to Cybertron safe and sound. And I hope they'll be here to stay.

Because that means I'll be able to study Subject Beta and her interactions with Subject Alpha.

The pseudonyms are, naturally, to protect identities. Also to help distinguish them in the mess that is my writing. What, you thought I'd be really good after only ten thousand stellar cycles of writing?

Please.

Anyway, Subject Alpha hasn't mistreated Subject Beta in any way. Not since an incident that prompted Alpha to 'toss' Beta out of his workspace.  
>Alpha has no memory of Beta, despite her remembering him enough to call him by a moniker only his closest friends can refer to him as.<p>

She returned to him after, to apologize for her actions. It was a solar cycle before Alpha underwent surgery. He seemed hesitant, but as she was sincere, he accepted her apologies. Then, strangely enough, he apologized for his unintentionally rough treatment of her, stating that he could've handled the situation better but didn't, and wanted to know how he could make it up to her.

When I overheard this, I wanted to cheer. But couldn't.

Anyway…..

While Alpha was in surgery, and then recovery, he left me in charge of teaching Beta how things worked in our workplace, which from now on will be referred to as the 'Citadel'. Of course, Beta has very good memory, so there was no need to give a rundown on how things went down down here.

Oh, no. I'm going to be smacked by some sort of grammar correcting teaching unit in the near future for that.

So I do the whole 'any questions/comments/concerns I should know about?' thing, and while Subject Beta asked me many questions that solar cycle, the first question she asked me was an unexpected one.

She asked what I knew of the antiwar group known simply as the 'Visor League.'

Official Cybertronian records say that they were a terrorist group, though, since they've apparently separated after the Great War between the Factions, no one has been able to find out whether or not their war crimes were actually their doing, or simply the work of several intelligent Decepticon spies.  
>Recently, the one known as Longarm Prime was discovered to be the Decepticon spy Shockwave in disguise, secretly feeding his true faction information on us for more than a thousand stellar cycles. Members of the Visor League may very well have been victims of circumstance. While it is not considered treason to think so, I wouldn't tell any bot of Fortress Maximus anything in the aforementioned paragraph.<p>

So, I told Beta. And, as if she read my processor, told me what she knew: that some members of the Visor League blamed the scientists of the Citadel for conducting their knowledge into the war. One of these bots was Alpha.

I could see where she was going with this. She wondered if they had done anything to make him look corrupt, including allegations of illegal means of collecting subjects, morally questionable experiments, and chemical warfare.

No, I assured her. The Visor League, for Primus' sake, was an antiwar group. Wouldn't making scientists look bad be…..well…..screwed-up and unnecessary, not to mention warmongering? Power-hungry? Anti-antiwar? And I thought that only some, and not all of them, detested scientists.  
>I, personally, thought it was just a bunch of Decepticons envious of his intelligence, out to make him look awful so they looked like the good bots in the war in comparison. They did kidnap Alpha sometime before the War went in full swing, and he was rescued with a gaping, energon-stained cavity in the middle of his head, and some serious psychological trauma after.<p>

At least he didn't give the psychologist as much trouble as he does doctors.

Beta went back to asking me questions, and I answered them to the best of my ability.

Of course, the subject of Alpha's memory loss came up again, and she asked me what I knew of that.

Nothing more than what I had learned from his partner, who shall from now on be known as Sigma. I learned from Sigma that Alpha attempted erasing his emotive processes through an amygdalous deletion-type device, but something went horribly wrong and, in addition to emotive processes being lost, so were several crucial memories.

The only reason I remember all that, as if it had happened this past orbital cycle, was because of something Sigma had given me a few solar cycles after that incident landed Alpha in the hospital.

I have reason to believe it was a disk of some sort. A data slug, more specifically, and filled with information. If the large size was anything to go by. Sigma told me it was extremely important, especially for Alpha, and that I must do everything not to lose it or, worse, break it.

Well, aren't I slagged.

It wasn't my fault. Honest.

About two orbital cycles ago, Decepticons attacked and left me to offline, raided my workspace, and vandalized it so badly, most of my time now is dedicated to piecing everything back together.

Including the disk.  
>Thank Primus, it wasn't destroyed, broken beyond repair. But the data slug laid in pieces when it was given to me. Thankfully, the pieces fell in an empty fissure in my workshop floor, and that piece of the floor was cut out, placed in a clear box, and given to me by a now retired police officer when I came back online in the hospital. Most of the time I was there, time not spent recharging, was spent piecing the slug together.<p>

I haven't updated any of my Wrecker-related writing because I had recently been discharged from the hospital. So far, friends of mine and Sigma's helped to fix my workshop, including my new friend Hunter, who may also be adding some of her own entries into this log. We shall see.

What I've managed to repair of the slug now rests in a titanium-plated safe, in another safe, behind one of my Wreckers posters.  
>Which one?<p>

Not telling.

It's weird, but I get this strange feeling I must fix that slug as soon as I can. I wonder why Sigma wanted me to protect it so. He…..actually got angry when he found out what had happened.

It's a terrifying sight, watching him become angry. If you knew who he really was, he is one of the nicest, funniest, smartest, most patient mechs I know. It's like watching a bot you admire get shot in the head, pardon the grisly image: if it ever happens, it haunts you for the rest of your solar cycles no matter what you do to get it out of your processor. He doesn't even yell. His voice stays real quiet, but it freezes your energon if you're on the receiving end of his anger.

But I knew why he was angry. That slug was important to him and his partner, who's already taken so many hits psychologically and emotionally. I assured him that it could be repaired, and he asked to have it back as soon as it was repaired.

Bots shouldn't do stuff like that. Get all upset and secretive over something. Then other bots will want to know what the deal is.  
>Like me. Primus, now I can't stop trying to imagine what's in that data slug. Important codes? Maps andor charts? Decepticons or Autobots assumed offline, but actually alive? The suspense is eating at my processor like Cosmic Rust.

I think my stay in the hospital has made me a bit loopy.

Ah, my friend Hunter is reading over my shoulderplate right now. She hasn't been here all that long-four orbital cycles at most-but she's caught on to reading Cybertronian quick. She's had some help from Beta, and I'm grateful for that.

Speaking of recent events involving Hunter…she was there with me when my friend Gamma, a medic, and Phi, a friend of Beta and the-I suppose-the lieutentant of Kappa, found the voice box of Alpha. The voice box was left in a jar, containing a note.

However harmless the note sounded, whoever 'The Metallurgist' is remains a threat to Alpha's life. He/She wants to find out why Alpha has hurt someone important to him/her, and gave us the voice box in exchange for information to be left with a prison guard that works at Trypticon.

I wasn't protoformed last solar cycle. The Metallurgist got Alpha's voice box in the first place….somehow, and gave it back to us in a similar mysterious manner. He/She knows where Alpha works, probably where he recharges, and, judging by the note, hates him.

Who needs Decepticons when we've got crazy bots like these?

I told Gamma. She thought I was out of my processor.

So I told Hunter. Which I should have done first. She believes me, at least.

I am worried for Alpha's safety, but with Beta hanging around him now, and with me and Sigma, I believe he's in good servos.

As of right now, Beta had gone to ask him for a job in the Citadel. He did the whole background-check-and-references thing with her and found she had worked in the Citadel before. Neither of us revealed why he didn't remember such information, considering he was involved in every aspect of the Citadel's work.

He informed us that her hire into the Citadel would have to wait.

Why? As far as I knew, everything on her end was good.

And then I smacked myself between my optics when I recalled possible reasons.

Kappa, and her entire team, including Phi and Beta, were labeled as AWOL, deserters of war, regarded on nearly the same level as treason. If Beta still had 'AWOL' on her records, which she probably does, the head of the Citadel (read: Subject Alpha) would not look favorably upon that. It would affect the decision to accept or reject her, and I worry that such information will affect more than just her credits.

And then it got tenser, if that wasn't possible before. She blurted out her thoughts on why she wasn't accepted right away, asking if their first interaction, especially the part where she accidently slapped him, was the reason he may not hire her.  
>I almost wanted to scream, or….do something; that was NOT something you mention or even think about if you're looking for a job, and I did NOT know about the slapping thing 'til now.<p>

Alpha does not like being touched by strangers, and I'm sure anyone _**striking **_him across the faceplates will, to put it lightly, not be liked very much by him.

I saw the dilating of his optics, even from where I watched. The way his entire frame hitched, the way he clenched the datapad. I wondered if she saw it as well.

Quick as a shuttering of an optic, he was calm and composed once more, and he assured her that the 'incident' was not a factor in deciding the hire.

I hope so. I'm, honestly, just glad that they're getting along now. It's always good as energon to see.

I feel I should mention: the solar cycle Beta had been interviewed, she had to leave early. Being Kappa's apprentice for a very, VERY long time, she is at Kappa's beck and call. Well, not really, but since her mentor is like a creator to her, Kappa's business takes priority over a lot of things.  
>She gently patted Alpha's servo, bidding him goodbye, and Alpha tilted his head curiously at her.<p>

To any bot, it's just a head tilt. But a head tilt to the right (at least Sigma told me) means he's curious about something. VERY curious. Interested, even.

He responded after a slight pause, and she raced out to wherever she was going. Normally, he'd just go back to whatever he's working on and not give such an incident a second thought.  
>This time, though, his head still stayed in that curious tilt. He shook himself out of it after a few nanokliks, shook his head furiously, and returned to his work as if nothing had happened.<p>

Now I'm curious to find out what had passed in his processor.

And how do I know this?

I've observed them quietly, from afar, as usual. They cannot know of PENUMBRA. Not yet, anyway. It is too soon.

Hunter won't go away. Even now, she nosily reads what I'm typing and makes snarky comments on it. Stop, Hunter, stop.

Wait.

She just asked me why I even care.

Really? I care about all of my colleagues, equally and to the best of my ability. Yes, even the ones that drive me up the nearest wall. When someone is happy, we're all happy, and when one of our own is saddened, we all sympathize. It's kind of strange, really. You work with these bots all your life, none of them being related to you in any way, yet you'd give the last charge of your spark for them.  
>I guess with almost none of us remembering our creators, we naturally find companionship and a sense of family with one another. And, funnily enough, if it looks like one of our own is falling in love, as many of us possible will make it our business.<p>

Because, logical and statistical as many of us are, consumed by puzzles and numbers and processes, we believe in love, too. Even if we didn't have to, I think we would. Love for family. For friends. For mentors and apprentices. For leaders and followers. For life partners. Love motivates the best of us.

PENUMBRA is a rest from most of my Wreckers-related writing, something I want to keep records of. Strange, to give reason for my writing, but I feel it's the best way to keep myself in the panic.

I will continue to log interactions and other observations of Subjects Alpha and Beta, as well as Subjects Sigma, Gamma, Kappa, and Phi. They are crucial to the social aspects of the two main subjects, and are fascinating subjects in themselves.

We shall see what becomes of the bond between Subjects Alpha and Beta.

Until my next entry.

Fisitron: SIGNING OUT.

* * *

><p>I got a chapter done.<p>

I got a chapter done.

After four months, after so long, I got a chapter done.

WOOOOOO. WOOOOOOOOO-

-Wait…uh-oh.

This chapter makes me feel all WHAT.

I-I don't know. How to explain it, I mean.

This chapter feels off to me, somehow.

But, in the past year, I've learned that writer's block is just that: a block. It is simply worries and fears that are so abundant, they build up and cripple you. So, whenever I had the time to, I wrote. I just had to. To keep the story flowing. To keep the plot fresh in my head, since I've gotten an unexpected amount of feedback on it.

Anyway, to my notes!

EVERYONE knows who Fisitron is, yes? If not, let me know. The lovely fans and I will help you out.

And, if you all have followed the story enough, you'll know who's who. Who Subject Alpha is. Who Subject Beta is. And Kappa and Gamma and Sigma, and the like. Even Hunter.

Well, okay, maybe not Hunter.

SPOILER ALERT: She's Verity Carlo, the second organic to ever set landing p-er, foot-on Cybertron. In my version of the Animated universe, she's 19. Her parents used to work for Sumdac until, according to records, some sort of freak factory accident. Her life from then on plays out much like LSOTW Verity.  
>She finds herself on Cybertron after being in Detroit for a year and, one day, being curious enough to volunteer herself, to Issac Sumdac, to go through the Space Bridge there and test out some of his inventions intended to assist organics to survive on Cybertron.<p>

The pseudonym Hunter comes from the LSOTW character of the same name, a redheaded male who was one of Verity's few friends until something happened to him. It's implied that he died. In the Animated universe, Hunter and Verity are your average geeky friends that play Dungeons and Dragons and get tattoos of alien glyphs and characters. And then Hunter dies…..somehow.

Yep, even the human characters are not safe from me.

When she first meets Ironfist, one of the few bots to be fascinated with her than disgusted, he wants to involve her, and her experiences and thoughts, in his writing somehow. He requests that she take a psuedonym, much like him. After some thought, thinking about the way she lived, hunting and gathering for food and other necessities, the loss of her friend still fresh in her mind, she takes the name Hunter.

I think that's the bulk of it.

**OH! And a gift.** Because I LOVE giving gifts, especially ones that are free. :)  
>The<span> first<span> reader to leave a review telling me what song, by what artist or band, inspired the piece (hint: title of chapter), gets a free dedication fiction from me!

-About any character, characters, or pairing  
>-From any continuity<br>-No incest, pedophilia, child abuse, or misogyny  
>-One chapter only. Sorry<br>-Must allow me to post on DeviantArt, and LiveJournal if the story's about a rare pairing

PM me if you have any questions, or whatnot.

Please let me know what you think of this chapter in the reviews section. Also, let me know what you'd like to see more of. While I can't promise you'll be completely satisfied as time presses on, I take these suggestions **very **seriously.

Keep yourselves merry and bright (to the best of your ability), lovelies.

~Ylysha


	8. All is Calm, All is Bright

HUZZAH! It is finished!

Hello, lovelies. If you've noticed the recent fiction-spamming I did, it's because I know that I may not have time to write fanfiction in about a month. Maybe 3 weeks if my homework becomes that difficult.

So, to compensate for my forced absence, as well as the fact that the Internet is STILL not paid for at my place, I'm putting up some stuff for everyone to read. When the Holiday break hit, all I could do during any downtime was write and write and write, as if I were high.

Which I wasn't. Promise.

I am actually _proud_ of this chapter. I'm usually harping on and on about how much a particular chapter is, but you know something?  
>While there are many things wrong with this chapter, I'm actually so, so glad I down this part of the story.<p>

Hopefully, by now, you are all acquainted with the Cybertronian terminology I use in this fic. If not….

Body Parts(all approximate, and the anatomical chart I use for my stories):

Hands = Servos  
>Arms = Support Servos<br>Legs = Stabilizing Servos  
>Tongue = Glossa<br>Teeth = Denta  
>Feet = Landing Pads<br>Shoulders and Knees = Shoulderplates and kneeplates, respectively  
>Eyes = Optics<br>Fingers = Digits  
>Hips = Pistons<br>Lips = Lip Components  
>Mouth = Vocal Receptor<br>Ears = Audio Receptor  
>Neck = Chassis Pillar<br>Torso/Chest = Chassis  
>Body = FrameShell  
>Skin = Finish<br>Brain = Processor  
>Sections of brain = Lobes<p>

Units of Time(all approximate, and the chronological chart I use for my stories):

Any time less than a second = Microklik  
>Second = Nanoklik<br>Minute = Klik  
>8.3 Minutes = Breem<br>Hour = Cycle  
>6 Hours = Joor<br>Day (both day and night) = Solar Cycle  
>Week = Decacycle<br>Month = Orbital Cycle  
>6 MonthsHalf a Stellar Cycle = Orn  
>Year = Stellar Cycle<br>83 Years = Vorn  
>Approx. 100 years = Megacycle<p>

And, drum roll please! Introducing a very crucial chart for my stories, a chart I've been working on for a long time!:

Cybertronian Units of Length(all approximate, and the metrical chart I use for my stories)

**Klep** – 1 Decimeter (0.10 m)  
><strong>Kil<strong> – 1 Fathom (6 ft.)**  
>Mechanometer<strong> – 1 Meter (m)  
><strong>Megamile<strong> – 1 Decameter (10 m)**  
>Kix<strong> – 1 Hectometer (100 m)  
><strong>Microquad<strong> – 2 ½ Hectometers (250 m)  
><strong>Hic<strong> – 1 Kilometer (1,000 m, or 4 microquads)  
><strong>Vun<strong> – 1 knot (6086 ft.)  
><strong>Solar Rek<strong>– 1 League (3 knots)

Hope this helps.

I figured, a little after I put up the new chapter on DeviantArt, I should explain what the fudge my weird chapter titles mean.

I say "HA! Figure it out for yourselves!"

No really. I can only give you definitions of words and whatnot. What the titles mean to you, what you get from every chapter, only you will know first what it means. But, just for fun:

I wrote this during the Christmas week, when I came home from Holiday shopping and just wanted to relax.

Do any of you know the Christmas song 'Silent Night'?

_Silent night,  
>holy night,<br>All is calm,  
>all is bright<em>

If you do, you know how it goes. I guess I unconsciously injected some Holiday spirit into my writing, since, yes, I do like Christmas very much. The 'all is calm' part of the title juxtaposes the drama and emotion well, while the 'all is bright' part complements the lovely surprise we have at the end.

What is this surprise?

READ AND FIND OUT.

You know that if you have any questions, comments, concerns, criticisms, reviews, you need to let me know!

At this point, all I can say is: ENJOY! (and please, leave a review if you can :) )

Disclaimer: _Transformers_: Animated belongs to Hasbro.

* * *

><p>I didn't believe them.<p>

Why why WHY did I not listen to them?

To her?

She knew. And she was trying to protect me.

And now…

….she can't even go an orbital cycle

without seizing up and blanking out

on us.

My fault.

The experiments

Chromia nearly offlining in prison

The League nearly being uncovered and hunted down

my fault

my fault

Primus forgive me.

It was three solar cycles before I left Cybertron

Funny, really, because I never

never

intended to leave.

But it doesn't matter now

except

that 'it'…

I told myself i'd tell him later

and that he'd

understand.

He'd do the same if someone he loved would

offline

unless he did something.

I swear

I never wanted to hurt him

but

I

did.

Because he hurt me too.

But that wasn't right

justified

but not right

well reasoned

but not

okay.

It was only a hundred thousand credits.

Peh. Only a hundred thousand.

it was meant to get medical supplies to help Chromia because a piece of a prison wall crushed her head into an unidentifiable mash of metal and energon

…

they gave me her detached faceplates. stuck them in my servos, still wet with energon, her optics still wide open, lifeless yet still online

a hundred thousand

only a hundred thousand

big amount, but

it will save her.

They promised me.

plus another hundred, as hush payment, to keep the talkative guards quiet

after all

she didn't do it.

SHE DIDN'T DO ANY OF IT, YOU HEAR?

My mentor is not a terrorist. nor did she steal energon to nourish those 'lazy vagrants'.

Chromia is an innocent bot

…a hundred thousand credits….

small price to pay for her life.

Enough to safely and discreetly smuggle stuff needed for her operations

It would get whatever they needed to heal her, make her

whole

again.

Alright again.

enough to make Chromia Chromia again.

They promised me.

And Percy-Perceptor-said his only conditions were that I didn't use the credits for anything illegal

or to buy drugs or high-grade

and that i'd tell him what i'd be doing with it.

He helped me and i helped him

his card in exchange for my favorite yellow visor

my favorite cool-toned yellow visor

that protected my optics during training.

That protect him from the laboratories' nasty surprises.

My favorite

He said he was close enough to tell me everything

…He promised me.

Promised promised promised me.

He'd tell me everything, even if it hurt him

even if it

hurt

me.

but he didn't.

Why? To protect me. Did he not think i was strong enough?

No. No one does.

Well, i'll show him. I'll show them all.

I don't need them. don't need him.

Don't need him

Don't need him at all

It's not like he needed me to begin with. he had everything. even before i came into his life. there will be no consequence if i just…..disappear…..

if i just

leave

_Come back, Moonracer, wherever you are. We need you._

We always need you.

Come back. Please.

Come back.

Primus, please….

_**…..go away. Because if you don't, I'll hurt you again.**_

**All Is Calm, All Is Bright** **  
><strong>  
>or<p>

_A story of accidents, awkward discoveries, tender touches, lingering negativity, a ninja pondering,  
>something rotten and foul, old friends, orders and limits, and a shy but heartfelt thank-you.<em>

_**{One orbital cycle and a megacycle after the return of Chromia Major and her team to Cybertron}**_

_  
><em>[Somewhere on Cybertron, en route to the Guild Scientius] 

The words that Red Alert relayed to Firestar earlier echo in my processor, like a broken loop in a holo-recording.

"There was an explosion at the Guild Scientius."

There was an explosion at the Guild Scientius._  
><em>  
>While accidents were normal at the sciencey Guild, the way Red gave the message made the four of us look worriedly at each other.<p>

There was an explosion at the Guild Scientius.

I am the second fastest of the femmes of the Quintessa, but the recent discovery that calls for Firestar's medical emergency experience gives Chromia an edge over me, and her fortified alt-mode races past my cousin and I and nearly rams into our Lieutenant.

"If you're trying to offline me, try again", 'Star mutters in her red-and-orange alt mode, running her engine twice as fast to compensate. Greenlight, being our shielded tank, is the slower one, so I force myself to slow down for her sake.

"You doing okay, 'cous?"

"Yes, Lancer", she replies softly. She rarely speaks, but being in alt-mode, she can't exactly use her optics to communicate with me.

She uses the holo-optics primarily to communicate with everyone. Her optics are blue, but the light she can shine from them come in blue, red, and a shade of green similar to her warm-green-with-pale-yellow-highlights paint job.  
>The holo-optics are most capable of forming holograms and holographs of memories, spoken words and actions from other bots that my cousin remembers (and does she remember a LOT), and other blackmail-worthy material.<br>Her holo-optics have audiovisual capabilities, and she does not need a screen or other flat surface for images to be seen.  
>She, unfortunately, can't be moving when using holo-optics.<p>

It's amazing I can hear her quiet murmur over the sound of four engines running full-speed, swerving to avoid other Cybertronians, tires screeching on too-slick pavement as we make sharp turns. Being a Cyber-ninja, though, mediation and fight training has helped me better than I thought.

We aren't even a microquad close to the Guild Scientius when I can see a thin column of smoke. The column gets thicker and more obvious, and, with every passing mechanometer, spots of sickly orange fire mark where the explosion started. The explosion seems to have affected a place in the middle of the Guild, to the east side.  
>The four of us arrive on the scene, transforming back into our respective bot modes.<br>Chromia doesn't even bother to stop going, rather driving straight into her transformation. Firestar runs after her as fast as she can, and all of us soon begin calling around in the wreckage, careful to avoid places where we could be suddenly buried by burnt-out, falling ceilings, or other things.

"Moonracer!"

"C'mon, Moonie!"

"Answer us!"

"Someone! Anyone!"

"Moonracer, are you here?!"

"Firestar?!"

The new voice captures our attention. Red Alert.

So she wasn't here when the explosion hit. Her pristine white armor and medic's helm are marred with blackened scorch marks.

"Yes, Red. Hello", Lieutenant calmly greets her as the two femmes exchange a brief, friendly clasp of wrist joints before turning to us.

"Now you see why I called you all here. This is a larger-than-usual explosion, even for one of Wheeljack's 'experiments'. We'll find out what exactly happened later. I'm having trouble finding some bots, mostly Perceptor, Wheeljack, and Moonracer."

"If anything's happened to her-" Chromia begins, but Firestar has foreseen this reaction and quickly restrains her, slapping a servo over her vocal receptor.  
>"Now is not the time", she hisses, and after some initial struggling, she releases Fearless Leader.<br>The blue femme resumes her calling of her apprentice's name, kicking over pieces of the wreckage that could possibly pin down a femme of Moonracer's petite, sleek frame.

"Thank Primus it was only a part of the Guild. Imagine if it was the whole thing."

Firestar glances in my direction. "Do I really want to-"

"-No. No you don't."

"Thought so."

The search doesn't take very long, though. About five kliks of looking, and Firestar sees a pale green support servo waving around a hic away.

"Wait!", we hear Moonracer yell. "Be careful where you step. There isn't a lot, but there are some hollow spots that mean a sprained ankle joint if you step in them wrong. Plus, I've got company."

The fire-colored rescue bot, seemingly ignoring her warning, looks awesome as she makes quick work of the various beams and boards covering the sharpshooter, yanking them off with a composed demeanor.  
>Her composed demeanor, however, falters a little, via a raised optic ridge, when we see Moonracer's 'company'.<p>

"Ah, there's Perceptor", I decide to remark after a klik, since the five of us femmes had just outright stared at first.

Unconscious, pinned under her, with his faceplates on her chassis.

Awk-ward.

"I had to", she replies, carefully climbing out. "He would've been wounded badly if I hadn't seen the danger and pushed him out of the way." With equal attention and caution, she drags out the scientist and positions him sitting upright against her frame.  
>Only in the light do I see Moonracer did get the brunt of the blast, her cool green armor almost black with scorch marks, and a few wounds here and there. Her speaking vocal receptor is a moving hole in the burnt ash of her face. Thin lines of energon run from any scratches that pierced her protoplasm and tore into her energon wires.<br>The scientist she cradles in her support servos bears scorch marks wherever her frame didn't protect him, mostly on his support servos, landing pads, and along the length of his scope. His yellow optical visor sits tilted on his faceplates, and the sharpshooter gently pulls the visor off his faceplates and stores it in a subspace on her frame.

"He is out cold, Moonie."

"That's where I come in", Red Alert states, her bionic left servo changing tools from the usual claw-looking device, to a prod with several slanted spines along its sides.  
>"Hoist is the Guild's resident medic, but he is one of the injured, so I've been enlisted to help."<p>

Carefully picking her away over the wreckage, she motions for Moonie to let her access his head, then carefully opens it up so we can see the back of his processor. The red-and-white medic points the prod to a certain port and fires a bright blue charge of energy into it.  
>There is no response from the unconscious scientist. Even after about four or five tries from Red Alert, there is still nothing.<p>

"Red!"

She looks up, trying to pinpoint the source of the cry. Moonracer spots it first.

"Wheeljack! Over here!"

The engineer is pinned in the frame of a wall, smoke rolling off of him in thick fumes. We hadn't seen him because he, somehow, ended up several mechanometers above our line of sight.

"You were hanging there all this time?! Why didn't you tell us?!"

"'Cause I only gained feeling in my chassis pillar and head just now! Enough to move it around and feel stuff! I saw you ladies just now!"

"Can you come down?!"

"I'd love to! Just find me my stabilizing servos first!"

"Where are they?!", the femme doctor calls to him.

Silence is the only response. Firestar, after looking over at Chromia, crouched near Moonie, and getting a nod, motions for Greenlight to follow her, and the two femmes head out to retrieve the engineer, and maybe find his stabilizing servos.

I'm more interested in whether or not Red can get Perceptor up and running again, so I look back at him. Moonracer holds his chassis tightly to hers, supporting his chassis pillar on one shoulderplate. With her free right servo, she lightly begins wiping away at any soot and shed energon on him. She gently pokes and prods in a few places, probably to make sure he didn't lose something important.  
>She's in the process of removing a small line of energon on his left servo, her digits sliding along his almost tenderly, when she catches me looking.<p>

"What?", she says, quickly tucking her servo under one piston as Red Alert returns to trying to return him to consciousness.

Her response: fascinating.

After watching the femme doctor use a few more of her fancy tools and do a whole bunch of complex medic stuff, she is successful.

"Per-ceptor. Perceptor! You're online again!"

Is that joy I hear in Moonie's voice?

"Of course."

And irritation in Chromia's?

Carefully sitting up, his optics flicker open. He looks at all of us, then his confused gaze rests on the femme who still has one support servo around him.

"Moonracer? What has transpired here?"

"Well, hate to break it to you, but there was another explosion. Not a super big one, but enough that you may have to rebuild the lab. Wheeljack's stuck in some wall lattice. Oh, and other than getting rendered unconscious, you're perfectly fine."

"And what of you? You don't appear 'fine'."

"Oh, don't worry about me. Seriously, don't worry. I once had to survive a ship engine malfunctioning and blowing up while I was still fixing it. I think I lost a digit or something to that. Anyway, don't worry. We weren't at the epicenter of the explosion, so we're both fine."

Red Alert runs a quick scan on him. "She's right. Other than a few cuts and bruises, you're alright."

"Thank you, Red Alert."

She replies with a curt nod. He gently motions for Moonracer to take her support servo off of him, and she reluctantly complies. He rubs out the kinks in his chassis pillar, then looks over at Chromia and I, pausing when he runs his gaze upon me.

"This is-?"

"Lancer of Kalis, Perceptor."

A quick nod, and then he looks up at a glowering Chromia.

What is her deal?! She looks like she wants to rip his faceplates off. Can't she try to look friendly? I've never truly understood what her issue is, only that she's doesn't like him too much.  
>I'm guessing it doesn't faze the scientist, who questions Moonracer about her identity. At this, Moonracer makes a faceplate I haven't seen before, something between a wince and a forced smile, something very un-Moonracer.<p>

"This is my mentor, Chromia Minor of Iacon."

"And don't you forget it, scientist."

The 'scientist' comes out in a hiss, and I wonder how is it that the microscope doesn't flinch back at her sour attitude.  
>Oh, wait, he has no emotions. At least that's what I've heard. He still has manners, still has his intelligence, but no emotions.<p>

I wonder what that feels like. To be unable to feel such extremes like sorrow and bliss. When I was in ninja training, I learned that in order to keep all chakras, or points of spiritual energy on the body, open, and therefore be a good warrior, I had to momentarily forget things like emotions. Extreme emotions blocked the second, third, and sixth chakras.

Then, as we sighted Firestar and Greenlight trodding back to us, with Wheeljack in tow, I realized that also meant Perceptor couldn't have fun anymore. Anything he did in life now was sapped of all emotion, both bad and good, disappointment and enjoyment alike. Anything he did was to help him merely survive. Granted, he couldn't hate, but did he also lose his ability to love as well? That is no way to live.

I turn my scattered processor to the white engineer. At least, the upper half of his body. His stabilizing servos seem to be missing from mid-thighplate down, no doubt blown off by the explosion. They set him down, and Greenlight immediately begins dabbing at the burnt finish with a diluted corrosive while Firestar questions him.

"Well, do you know the cause of this explosion, Wheeljack?"

He scratches his chinplate thoughtfully. "Granted, I was working with plutonium and sodium, and as well as some other lovely chemicals, trying to find a way to make a simple explosive that can be carried on the body, but that can also be concealed well-enough on the frame. Other than that, though, I'd just glad that everyone's safe. Right?" His optics flicker over at Red Alert, who nodded, gesturing for him to continue.

"The funny thing, I left those chemicals in a blast-proof chamber that Ironfist and Mainframe assembled. Chamber should've been closed. I know I locked it up right after I was done. If the chemicals did have a reaction, the chamber should've contained it."

"It's a good thing that the explosion, regardless of cause, did not destroy the entire Guild", Firestar responds. "We'll have to wait until after we've searched and cleaned out everything to-"

She is interrupted by a bot driving up to us in alt-mode. The ruddy red and white paintjob and somewhat boxy form of the alt-mode gives away a medic of some sort.

First Aid, more specifically, as he transforms into bot mode.

"Red Alert, ma'am, I found out something I feel you should know."

Then he notices that his boss has company, and he gives everyone a quick nod in greeting, holding his gaze on Firestar before returning his attention to the red-and-white femme.

I know First Aid from back in Academy days, when he and Greenlight were in the same class at Protihex. He is a friend that shares the Great Secret, and particularly a closer friend to Greenlight because of their shared pacifistic views.

"It's regarding the cause of the explosion. Are you familiar with Jazz Major?"

"I am. Why?"

"Jazz tells me that the explosion may not be a mere accident."

Everyone looks at one another. Then, Perceptor slowly gets up, straightens himself, and approaches First Aid.

"Define 'may not be a mere accident.'"

"I feel it's best if everyone who can follows me. Red Alert, you will have to take Wheeljack to-"

"-Whoa! No!"

"-Wheeljack, we know you probably wish to know what happened-"

"-Yes, I do! What I've got is a scratch-"

"-Wheeljack, you've got no stabilizing servos left-", Moonracer points out with her usual drooping optic ridges and her oh-no-not-again voice.

"-Doesn't matter! Firestar, your alt-mode's a towing vehicle, yes?"

"Can I just drag him with us, get the debriefing, then I wheedle him over to the nearest hospital? Does that sound okay? I think he's gone through his", the femme drones in her staticky tone, carrying Wheeljack to an area where there's no debris, and a clear route out of the wreckage. She transforms into her alt-mode, and uses a forklift to lift the engineer onto the flatbed of her vehicle.

"He will still function if we get him to the hospital a cycle from now", Perceptor agrees, following her and transforming into his alt-mode; a four-wheel, multi-terrain vehicle with his scope mounted on a tripod, based in the middle of the flatbed part of his alt-mode.

Everyone else is sorta-kinda forced to agree, and, a few nanokliks and six more alt-modes later, we are following First Aid to the location of Jazz Major.  
>We stop at the front entrance of the Guild Scientius, where more bots are gathered. It seems when the explosion hit, most of the bots ran for safety. The wreckage where we found Wheeljack, Perceptor, and Moonracer was, now that I realize it, disturbingly lacking in bots. Only Red Alert had been there, apparently, to help look for them. Perhaps any MoS bots working here this solar cycle hadn't known they were missing until after looking around, or thought they were out?<p>

I don't think about it too much, concentrating on finding Jazz with the bots milling about, their concerned voices carried in the air. First Aid finds him first.  
>A fellow ninja, a friend, a keeper of the Great Secret, former lieutenant to Sentinel Magnus, and all-around cool mech, Jazz smiles up at everyone behind his blue visor, shaking servos with the pacifistic mech before heading straight for me.<p>

"What's up, Lancer? Still rocking that funky paintjob without a care, huh?"

Out of my alt-mode and back in bot mode, I stride over to him and pound fists.

"You know it, Jazz, my mech", I reply with the same amount of good vibes, pulling him in for a friendly hug. "How's the universe treating you?"

Out of the hug, I see his normally jovial expression waver, the corners of his vocal processor drooping down, but in less than a nanoklik, his usual happy faceplates are back.  
>"Good, good."<p>

He opens up a large datapad and sets the thing to holograph mode. Everyone gathers around him to look, Firestar hoisting Wheeljack higher on her chassis so that he can see.

"What happened at the Guild: not so good. The blame usually falls on any members of the MoS, but I have reason to believe it may have been planned. Almost like an assassination attempt."

Everyone falls deathly silent. If remaining Decepticons are insane enough to pull off an assassination attempt, the common thought is that they'd target Ultra Magnus. Or, they wouldn't waste their resources on trying to breach Beta Hospital, where our leader's being kept on spark support, and would target Trypticon Prison, and getting their leader out. Their leader, or one of his generals.

"Our leaders may be the ones to see that battle plans and the like are carried out, but who do you think has to compose those plans? Who makes our weapons? Who ensures that biological and chemical warfare will not harm our numbers? Scientists, that's who."

He changes the holographs, now showing the Guild Scientius. "Any of you cool cats know how bots get inside the Guild?"

Everyone expects Perceptor to answer, but Moonracer beats him to the punch. "All workers of the Guild, upon registration and background checks, are given a nine-digit code and number. The automatic holder of the code number is a small metal card, about the size of credit leaves. On the card is the designation, the code on the right-servo side, and the number beneath that-oh, thanks, Green-"

As the sharpshooter speaks, Greenlight pulls out a cleaning rag from one of her many compartments and quietly holds it out. Moonracer pauses, thanks her and accepts the small tan material, wiping her faceplates free of soot. She begins to clean herself, rubbing her chassis pillar then going down as she goes along.

"-However, there's a second method. A lot of bots get their code number decaled on a certain part of their bodies. I had mine decaled on my finish, underneath my head panel….", and here she points at the yellow circle gracing the middle of her forehead. "Because I'm so short.

"As long as you have a code number, and it can be scanned, you can get almost anywhere in the Guild."

Chromia looks impressed, that her apprentice has remember so much. Wheeljack seems to agree, a soft whistle sounding behind his mask. Red Alert even smiles a little. Perceptor…..is less so.

"Exactly how would you know all this, Miss Moonracer?", he asks her, his surprisingly emotional voice sounding a tad suspicious.

I don't know if she really can't feel it, or chooses to ignore it, but she replies, "Same as you, Perceptor. I read the datapads, including the fine print. And I read it over and over again as much as I can and try to remember. Simple." She smiles innocently and proceeds to turn her attention back to Jazz.

"Does the code number thing also apply to the Guild's property? Stuff such as equipment, prototypes, all that fun stuff?"

She nods. The music-loving ninjabot runs into the hologram what looks like video surveillance. It's a recording of what's happening in a laboratory. Lights turn off, meaning whoever was working in it last has left. For a few boring kliks, there's only the camera switching to night vision. The point of view appears to be from a table, or a shelf, instead of from a ceiling like most cameras.

Then, in the far left of the screen, something moves. At first, it looks like a tiny tube being lifted on a tripod, moving around. The thing suddenly grows appendages that look like little blades, and these clawlike blades seem to act as stabilizing servos. The thing comes out of the shadows and we see it.  
>One of the Guild's microscopic devices. I'm guessing the Ministry of Science keeps a few around in case their primary microscope, Perceptor, is not around to inspect something.<p>

Except this microscope, when it comes into clear view, turns out to be a bot. I notice the code numbers decaled on one of the larger stabilizing servos of the thing.  
>Almost as if it's aware it's being watched, it sharply turns around with a noise of irritation.<p>

The telltale red optics on this little bot confirm our suspicions: a mini Decepticon spy is among us, and it isn't even disguised as an Autobot.

The bot seems to have found the camera, and with a few clattering steps and a slice of a claw that seems to serve as a major servo, its image is replaced with black-and-white static.

"Frag", Chromia curses, always impatient enough to break any unneeded silence.

"Great. One of the few times I'm not the cause of an explosion in the Guild, and it's the one time we're in actual danger", Wheeljack mutters from his spot on Firestar's shoulderplate. "What now? You expect me to cooperate with medics after finding out the Ministry and our sanctuary is in trouble?" As he worries (because he never complains), Red Alert, already having transformed into her alt-mode, waits as First Aid lifts him off of Noble Lieutenant and loads him into the back.

"You're gonna give Red a hard time, 'Jack?", the firey-colored femme teases (as much as _Firestar_can tease). "You are the mech, Wheeljack, you really are."

"Nah, Red and 'Jack are tight, aren't you guys?" At this, the doctor gives a half-sparked 'meh', but I know. They're solid.  
>"And don't you worry, cool cat", Jazz assures him. "Everything is gonna flow when we straighten this out."<br>All of us watch Red Alert, First Aid, and Wheeljack rush off before the ninjabot speaks again. "The rest of us have our work cut out for us, then. Chromia, you and your strategist-"

My audio receptors perk up. "-That's me!"

"-Really?"

"Yep."

Jazz folds his support servos across his chassis, impressed. "Crazy."

"Sometimes", Firestar mumbles, massaging her apparently sore shoulderplates and spinal unit.

"Well, Chromia, you and Lancer figure out who does what. Then you and your lieutenant come with me and bring this up to the Council.

I guess that means you as well, Perceptor."

Immediately, the good mood in her faceplates disappears, and the rest of us share another round of worried glances. I lock gazes with the red rescue bot, hoping she can put Fearless Leader in a cooperative demeanor. None of us want the Council giving her an even harder time.

"Must we meet up with them? Can't we just send this problem to them via intercom, or have the Head of MoS right here relay the message?"

See, I admire Jazz for his ability to keep a cool processor, even with a heated temper like 'Mia's around. He continues to converse with her in a hushed tone.  
>"Chromia, you know the Council ain't out to make it hard for you to be here-"<p>

"First of all, if they want to help me, they wouldn't be putting pressure on me to run for Pro Temporare Magnus-"

"-I already know about that."

"Do you? Who told you?"

"Optimus."

"Figures. Second of all, it's not the Council I have problems with." She snaps her head towards an unsuspecting Perceptor, and I'm suddenly thankful it's not enough to cause another seizure.

"It's you, Scientist."

Logically, almost-losing color while you're still online and conscious isn't possible, but forget logic, because all of the color in Moonracer's faceplates just drained away.

Wait, what's she so worried about? Granted, Chromia can be pretty violent, especially towards bots that she just doesn't like (hence why her Lieutenant is also the strongest of us), but the gunslinger has a processor. She is not dumb enough to try and attack the microscope here, especially with us here as well as Jazz, who can hold his own against a small army. Small Army = Chromia Minor.  
>Moonracer, most especially, though she looks weak and powerless, is far from it.<br>She just worries about everything too much, I think.

"Chromia, no."

"Chromia, ma'am-"

"-Don't call me ma'am! I work for a living, unlike some!"

"If that is your sentiment towards me, then I regret to inform that you are very mistaken", he replies calmly. "I understand your feelings towards titles much more than you assume."

"If you truly understand my feelings, understand this.", she hisses in the harshest tone, striding towards him until her furious expression is only half a klep away from his faceplates. "Do not ask, do not wonder, just listen, and listen good. Never mind me, but you will treat my girls with respect. Especially Moonracer.

She may work for you, but if you cut her wages short, hurt her in any way, give her reason to be upset, upset enough that others know and find out, I will find you, I will hunt you down, and YOU will be my science experiment."

She must be spitting mad if she doesn't even give him a chance to verify his understanding of her threat. A simple turn on her heel strut and her angry gait brings her back to a confused-as-the-Pit Jazz.

"Let's go, Jazz."

"Forgetting something, Ms. C?" Jazz points a lone digit to the rest of us, and Chromia groans and pinches the bridge of her olfactory sensor, her optics closing in frustration before marching up to me.

"Okay, Lancer, listen up. You are going to help the MoS with clearing the wreckage. I don't know why they haven't gotten bots to take care of that yet, so, please."

It doesn't sound glamorous, but I really couldn't care. She's asking me because if a part of a roof falls, I have quick reflexes that will enable me to get away fast enough. If there are hollows in the wreckage that can't be stepped in, I can detect them pretty well. I don't weigh too much, I tend to work fast, and I'm thorough.

"You got it, 'Mia!"

"Greenlight, if you can help by calming down the really crazy, obnoxious bots, and do a quick scan for everyone, to ensure no bot's hiding injuries. I really appreciate it." The larger bot meekly nods her head and hurries to calm down some bot that had been chanting 'oh slag oh slag oh slag'. I really don't know why. The area affected had only been like, what, one-tenth of the Guild?

Okay, that right there still sounded pretty bad.  
>My cousin is asked to deal with bots because Greenlight has a unusually calming, warm aura. She known for putting bots in a better mood just by being present, and her full medical training and general softsparked-ness can be put to good use for bots that need the help.<p>

Chromia then approaches Moonracer, planting her servos on the other's shoulderplates.

"Sweetspark, I know you're mad with me, but here's what's going to happen. When we leave, you help out the uninjured from the Ministry with whatever they need. Finding any of the Guild's files that may have been lost. All that scrap. Since you work there, you do whatever you have to do. After all that, if we still don't get back by the time you and the Cousins are finished, the three of you just head to the Apartments, okay?"

The malachite-green femme holds her cobalt-blue mentor's gaze for a klik, then nods. "Yes, 'Mia." There's only resoluteness in her voice, which means she's set aside this conflict for the time being.

She heads back to Jazz, who appears relieved and less confused. "See, you're jiving just fine, Chromia."

"Let's go, then", she starts but the ninjabot stops her.

"Now, hold up, I'm waiting for-"

"-Please, Jazz Minor. You, Chromia Minor, and Lieutenant Firestar may proceed ahead of me. I will find you in about 3.1 kliks."  
>Perceptor directs a small nod towards the three aforementioned bots, then turns to Moonracer.<p>

No other words are shared, though Chromia raises an optic ridge at this. The three bots transform into their alt-modes and drive away. I turn and, gently pulling our medic's neon-green support servo along, head for the entrance of the Guild, but I stop when I catch figments of an interesting conversation behind me.

"Moonracer?"

"Yes, Perceptor?"

"If I may ask, what is Chromia Minor's issue with me?"

"It's not you, per se. It…well….."

"I find bots hesitating around me grating and time-consuming-"

"-I know. That was always a thing with you. You never liked it when bots wouldn't just cut to the chase."

I turn around, hiding behind my cousin's much larger chassis (because she's already recording this conversation with her head), and I see the scientist tilt his head to the right.

"You see, Perceptor, you…..you remind her of a bot. A bot that not only hurt her friends, nearly placed her and them in terrible danger, but hurt me as well. Personally. Every time she sees you, she sees this bot. The bot that hurt my spark. Please don't hold it against her. Logically, one would, but please, don't get her in trouble because of it."

He steps closer to her. "Is that all? Very well. I do not have the time, patience, or evidence to, as you put it, 'get her in trouble', and because you asked kindly, I will not attempt to. I simply ask she does not try something like tearing off my support servo, because of whatever similarity I share with this bot." At this, something between a wince and a sob passes on her faceplates.  
>"I do not doubt she can restrain herself in that matter, and I hope you can assist her. Now, I have to follow Jazz and the others to Fortress Maximus, but I trust you can keep procedures going well in my absence." Her sadder-than-usual frown is replaced with a determined nod, and the scientist nods in response and turns to transform into his unique alt-mode.<p>

"Oh, and…..Moonracer?"

"Yes, Perceptor?", she murmurs, standing at his side and looking down at where his headlights are.

The air hangs heavy with some sort of tension, so heavy that Greenlight turns her head to see what'll happen.

"….Thank you for protecting me when the explosion hit. You honestly didn't have to; I've dealt with worse whenever Wheeljack would cause something bigger to combust and explode. I never properly thanked you. I am truly grateful. Goodbye for now."

The scientist drives off, leaving her staring in the direction he leaves.

My spark feels brighter. If he could feel grateful, I'm guessing he _must_still have some emotions left in that lonely little spark of his.

And as for our little speedster?

For a good five kliks or so, she stands there, her head held high and her back straight as my Cy-Staff, with her servos clasped to her chassis, in the area where her spark chamber is. And, though she may be facing away from us, the smile on her lip components ….

I have never seen that look in her faceplates before.


	9. Imperatrix Mundi

Hello, my lovelies!

I bet you all thought I abandoned Penumbra, hmm?

Nah. I love this story and the pairing too much to just let it go. At the least, I would've put the story up for adoption for some kindly author to continue it.

College, as well as my job and my family life have taken quite a toll on my health. With the summer, I have unfortunately lost my job due to circumstances outside my control.  
>I go back to college around the end of August, and I have been hard at work finding a job before then.<p>

And to top things off, I would've uploaded this chapter sooner, but my family lost our Internet connection a few days ago, and I cannot leave the house due to my mother being busy. Thank God I have time to write!

I am now legal, though in no rush to drink, have sex, or marry. Though I am in quite the hurry to learn driving and get my license.

Enough about me, though.

Hopefully, by now, you are all acquainted with the Cybertronian terminology I use in this fic. If not….

Body Parts (all approximate, and the anatomical chart I use for my stories):

Hands = Servos  
>Arms = Support Servos<br>Legs = Stabilizing Servos  
>Tongue = Glossa<br>Teeth = Denta  
>Feet = Landing Pads<br>Shoulders and Knees = Shoulderplates and kneeplates, respectively  
>Eyes = Optics<br>Fingers = Digits  
>Hips = Pistons<br>Lips = Vocal Labi  
>Mouth = Vocal Receptor<br>Ears = Audio Receptor  
>Neck = Chassis Pillar<br>Torso/Chest = Chassis  
>Body = FrameShell  
>Skin = Protoplasm<br>Brain = Processor  
>Sections of brain = Lobes<p>

Units of Time (all approximate, and the chronological chart I use for my stories):

Any time less than a second = Microklik  
>Second = Nanoklik<br>Minute = Klik  
>8.3 Minutes = Breem<br>Hour = Cycle  
>6 Hours = Joor<br>Day (both day and night) = Solar Cycle  
>Week = Decacycle<br>Month = Orbital Cycle  
>6 MonthsHalf a Stellar Cycle = Orn  
>Year = Stellar Cycle<br>83 Years = Vorn  
>Approx. 100 years = Megacycle<p>

Cybertronian Units of Length (all approximate, and the metrical chart I use for my stories)

**Scint **– 1 Centimeter (0.100 m)  
><strong>Klep<strong> – 1 Decimeter (0.10 m)  
><strong>Kil<strong> – 1 Fathom (6 ft.)**  
>Mechanometer<strong> – 1 Meter (m)  
><strong>Megamile<strong> – 1 Decameter (10 m)**  
>Kix<strong> – 1 Hectometer (100 m)  
><strong>Microquad<strong> – 2 ½ Hectometers (250 m)  
><strong>Hic<strong> – 1 Kilometer (1,000 m, or 4 microquads)  
><strong>Vun<strong> – 1 knot (6086 ft.)  
><strong>Solar Rek<strong> – 1 League (3 knots)

Hope this helps.

I figured, a little after I put up the new chapter on DeviantArt, I should explain what the fudge my weird chapter titles mean.

I say "HA! Figure it out for yourselves!"

No really. I can only give you definitions of words and whatnot. What the titles mean to you, what you get from every chapter, only you will know first what it means. But, just for fun:

_Imperatrix Mundi _is from Latin. It is the title of the first piece of the Carmina Burana, a famous (or infamous, depending) piece of dramatic music. 'Imperatrix Mundi' is better known by some as 'O Fortuna' because of the first two lines.

_Oh fortuna_ Oh fortune  
><em>velut luna<em> Like the moon

_Imperatrix Mundi_ roughly translates into English as 'Empress of the World'. Fortune, or Fate as many called her, was considered the world's queen because she controlled everyone and everything, from the destiny of all living beings to the seasons and the weather.

I have so many reasons for titling the chapter after a piece of music as old as the handheld Bible, but that's not the most important. Leave me a comment if you can. Maybe tell me what your thoughts are on this chapter, why you think I titled this chapter with such an archaic phrase. Stuff like that. Reviews and criticisms are welcome. :)

Let's get on with the next installment of '_Penumbra_'!

Disclaimer: I do not own _Transformers_: Animated. We'd have a very depressing cartoon if I did.

* * *

><p><em>You open your optics.<em>

_At first, it's just a blaze of light, harsh and white. Then your vision clears, and you see the bots hovering over you. Medics. All of them._

_"Ah, you're coming to", a masculine, kind voice murmurs._

_You're in a hospital, that much you can tell._

_"Where am I?", you ask, the light still glaringly bright until a servo moves it out of your sight._

_Red Alert? No, not Red Alert. This one's a mech, and in addition to a light-blue visor, he doesn't have her medic helm._

_"Hey there, sir. The largest of your injuries is a severe injury in your chassis. Decepticons attempted to shoot your spark out. Please don't strain yourself, or leave the berth. Your body needs time to recover completely."_

_You immediately recognize the voice; First Aid, a nurse and emergency medic, apprenticed by Ratchet._

_"I know of the Decepticons that attempted to kill me. I want to be told what exactly happened, why they attacked us, if there were any casualties."_

_There is the feeling of being moved, and you see that First Aid is following and talking with you as two other bots wheel you away somewhere. Bots are running to and fro, and the commotion and loud orders to 'get her some placidium', and 'take him to ER', and the like dwindle away._

_"None that I remember off the top of my head, I'm sorry to say, sir. Anyone at the Guild Scientius, I mean. I can say that the Decepticons that raided the Guild stole stuff like blueprints and confidential files. I think they wanted to kidnap you as well, and they did destroy the West Corridors of the Guild. I am sorry to report this._  
><em>However, no one from there has been reported as offline, thank Primus. I know that Mainframe and Councilfemme Botanica have been administered a few solar cycles cycles ago, and Ironfist has sustained some head trauma. Skyfall and Moonracer have been reported missing, though-whoa!"<em>

_You shoot up in the medical berth at the mention of the sharpshooter's name. A stab of pain registers in your chassis, but you ignore it as you struggle against First Aid._

_"Easy, sir!"_

_"What?! How long?!"_

_Your medical berth stops moving, and the two bots pushing it leave. The nurse remains behind, a confused expression his only reply._

_"How long-?"_

_"How long have I been in prolonged stasis?"_

_There is a nervous pause, and you notice First Aid press in his vocal labi before replying, "Honestly, Perceptor? A decacycle, five solar cycles, fourteen cycles, and two breems at present."_

_A decacycle. You've been unconscious for longer than a decacycle, and the frustration at yourself for missing so much settles in. Unconsciously, your right servo runs over your head, to the back, down your chassis pillar, and over a gap where there's usually the giant periscope on your shoulderplate._

_Wait._

_"First Aid, where is my periscope?"_

_"Oh, that's back in another ward, awaiting repairs, Perceptor sir. I will get it back to you the moment it's back in working order, sir."_

_"Please refrain from referring to me as 'sir'. It feels displaced. Now, when was it reported that Moonracer went missing?"_

_No response._

_"First Aid. Answer me."_

_"….She was reported missing a solar cycle after the assault on the Guild. She wasn't at the Guild, but rather at Kaon, with the forces battling Trypticon. If she had offlined, we'd know. But since there are no remains, we will assume she's still alive and look for her, as well as other bots reported missing."_

_He places a comforting servo on your right shoulderplate, on the gap where your scope used to rest. You feel exposed without the scope there, as if you are incomplete. Mere politeness is the only thing keeping you from shaking him off._

_"She'll…..turn up. I'm sure. And the Guild will definitely be rebuilt. You need to rest and take care of yourself, so that you'll be around when everything is back to normal. Things are going to be alright. You'll see. Now, I have to get back to ER, because Ratchet is pinging me important orders."_

_The red-and-white nurse begins to stride out, but your last question abruptly stops him._

_"And what of Wheeljack?"_

_His hesitation and the weary drop of his shoulderplates doesn't go unnoticed. "I will have to report back with more details after. Or I will send someone to. I need to go now, but you will get a full explanation later."_

_With that, the mech leaves and doesn't look back._

_That didn't answer the question at all._

_You know exactly what happened to everyone else: Ironfist, Moonracer, even the Guild Scientius and your periscope. None of your colleagues are offline, and you'll learn of anybot that did later, but there is no updated knowledge of the engineer's whereabouts._

_Something doesn't feel right._

_You find this odd, that you are relying on feelings, something you haven't really done, until Moonracer became your assistant and Wheeljack started concentrating on mentoring Ironfist more. Before and after the thousand stellar cycles. Emotions are not part of you, but you found yourself comparing instances where instinct would've yielded better results._

_No instance has yielded a stronger conclusion than now: something really doesn't feel right._

_You try to apply logic, and only two things that come to processor is that First Aid intentionally lied to you, or gave you information he gleaned from someone who had incomplete knowledge._

_Something really, REALLY doesn't feel right._

_You are known for, besides your vast intellect and scientific skills, being persistent. And this was something worth getting to the bottom of, if only to keep it out of your processor later._  
><em>So you attempt to sit up, and another stab of pain, deeper than the last, erupts in your nervous wiring. Your left servo reaches for your chassis, and you find a spark-support cube latched there. Looking down, you find your entire chassis, your servos, and your left stabilizing servo down to the landing pad, tightly wrapped with steelbelt bindings.<em>

_What you find strange is that there are no more medical instruments, such as IV drips or energon tubing. Surely you've been injured more seriously, considering Decepticons attempted to shoot your spark out and managed to deliver some damage._  
><em>There are only twelve cubes of low-grade on a side table, so you hurriedly consume three. Ignoring the slight waves of pain flaring in your chassis, you move off the medical berth and stagger out of the room.<em>

_Looking left and right, this hallway is fairly empty. Your objective is finding Wheeljack. The ER is leeward, and in that direction is First Aid and possibly other medics that will demand you stay put. You turn to the right and begin walking, hoping to stumble across anyone or anything that could help you._

_You're barely half a klep away from your room before you come across a medic. This one is one that seems familiar to you. A femme with a Level 3 nurse's medic helm, she has antennae on her audio receptors and white kibble with lifeline emblems. Orange faceplates, red and white everywhere in her design._

_"Oh, hello. Can I help you with somezing?"_

_"Greetings. Yes, can you please disclose the location of Wheeljack? Or if he has been administered to this hospital?"_

_"Of courze! I will check my datapad and see what comes up. I am Minerva, in case you needed to know."_

_Minerva. Red Alert's apprentice. Of course._

_4.1 kilks later, and she reads the datapad and smiles. "You're lucky you von't have to walk far. Just go down zis hall headed towards the ER, but take your first left. Zhen your fourth right. Zhen the second left. Zis is Ground Level, so look for Room E42, yes?"_

_"That was helpful. Thank you." Nodding your gratitude to her, you follow her directions, restraining every wince that results from pressure being applied on your left landing pad. You don't need her coming after you with hospital orderlies and a wheeled berth._

_Keep walking. Keep walking. They would do the same for you. Wheeljack would do the same for you. Moonracer would do the same for you. Keep going. Keep going. Keep going despite the miniscule pain that is slowly increasing._

_You take the first left, but passing the first left you hear familiar voices from the right and quicken your pace to the second left, where there is an alcove that doubles as a custodian closet. They come into the hallway just as you tuck your lean frame behind the door. You hide and listen._

_"….It is not wise to inform him just yet. Considering everything we've just discovered, his mental state is something we must take great care..."_

_"...he deserves to know. After all that's happened. ..."_

_"He is too valuable to be hampered in any way..."_

_"Oh, so now everything he's discovered, everything he's gone through, is just an obstacle? An inconvenience? You all have hidden the truth from him before, and look what good came out of that!"_

_"Red Alert, ma'am-"_

_"-Don't ma'am me! Don't think I'll forget why I'm angry at you. In fact, forget this. I'm finding him and telling him myself. First Aid!"_

_A clatter of landing pads. "Yes, Red Alert, ma'am? Hello to you, Alpha Trion, sir. And you as well, Mainframe."_

_"Give me the room number of Perceptor."_

_"Ma'am, with all due respect-"_

_"-Dammit, not you too, Aid."_

_"Ma'am, he is recovering. I don't think it's wise to speak with him just yet. Considering your history…."_

_"…..don't, First Aid. Don't. And don't start, Mainframe. You too, Alpha Trion sir. I know we all mean well, but First Aid, I need to talk to him."_

_"What will you tell him?"_

_"Everything. That Moonracer and her friends are reported as offline, that the Guild Scientius has been leveled, and that Wheeljack is in a fatal coma."_

_You know they are talking, but you hear nothing past Red Alert's last statement. Any energon in your wires suddenly runs cold, and the familiar sensation of an obstruction in your tanks; the want to purge, it's there in a nanosecond, and every sound and sight spirals into this….phenomenon…cutting off the energon going to your head._  
><em>You want to collapse. To close your optics and wake up.<em>

_The Guild Scientius is destroyed._

_Moonracer is gone for good._

_And Wheeljack could soon follow her._

_Lies._

_Misinformation._

_No._

_No._

_NO._

_This….is just a nightmare. It has to be._

_But it doesn't feel like a cortisolium-drugged dream. This feels awfully real._

_And the feeling is punctuated by a sharp pain. You look down and, in the dim light of the custodian's closet, see your right servo clenching your left elbow joint hard enough to draw energon. It flows through your digits, the glowing magenta color stark against the black of your finish._

_No._

_This is real._

_But…_

_…Wheeljack. Wheeljack would know what to say. And if what they said was right, he wasn't offline either._

_Ignoring the heaviness in your spark chamber that grows with every step, you clamber out into the hallway and attempt to find the room._  
><em>E42. E42. You repeat it over and over in your processor, until your vocal labi begin mumbling the room number like an overcharged bot.<em>

_You would find out what really happened to the Guild and Moonracer later, though your spark twists in pain upon the thought that Moonracer could be offline._  
><em>The Guild is practically indestructible, if your partner's exploits didn't give the fortress a total of 3,458 upgrades over the vorns.<em>

_And Moonracer is resilient and strong beneath her petite exterior, hardly a bot to offline after a mere battle. You've seen her fight servo-to-servo. And protect you from nineteen various and dangerous explosions since her tenure as your assistant. And hold off the Decepticon Oil Slick. She is probably recovering somewhere in the hospital, or waiting somewhere for a rescue team._

_She and Wheeljack will be fine._

_Yet you can't completely avoid the logic in your processor that says that medics, of all bots, wouldn't lie to you. To anyone, really._

_Pushing away the negative thought processes once again, you walk out and down the hall as fast as you can, taking the fourth right as instructed. You near the first hallway on the right when you hear somebot calling out your designation._

_"Perceptor! Hey, Perceptor!"_

_The accent is unique to Ironfist, who you see hobbling after you when you glance back. The younger metallurgist clutches his head with his left servo, the other servo holding up his frame on a crutch of sorts._

_"Wait! Percy, please wait up!"_

_You stop your feeble walking long enough for him to catch up._

_"Thanks. Hold on for a klik."_

_"Are you on your way to see your mentor, as am I?"_

_"About that-"_

_Any more he intends to say is cut off by other voices._

_Unwelcome voices._

_"You didn't tell me other medics were following you."_

_"I didn't know about them. Were you avoiding them?"_

_You turn and hurry towards the second right, amid Ironfist's pleas to slow down and the now excruciating pain centered in various areas of your body._

_"Perceptor, you need to slow down!"_

_At this rate, you continue to stumble, leaning heavily against walls and clutching your bound spark chamber. Dizziness threatens to weigh you down, before you shake your head and trudge onwards._

_"I will not slow down until I've at least seen Wheeljack!"_

_That quickly becomes the wrong response, as the landing pads of Red Alert, Ratchet, and Alpha Trion hasten behind you._

_The second right leads into a smaller, brightly-lit hallway, where all doors are motion-sensor operated like many doors at the Guild Scientius. Lacking a handle, all doors are split with a line down the middle, and a red orb containing a sensor-scanner underneath a circular cover. All it takes is a scan of an Autobot Insignia and a wave of a servo._

_A quick look-over of all doors, and you see it. At the far end, seven doors down._

_E42._

_With tremendous relief, you begin walking._

_And find your path hindered by a firm servo on the gap where your periscope used to be. A 95-degree turn reveals Ratchet, and the aged doctor plants his other servo on you._

_"Oh, no, you don't. With all due respect, sir, it would not be wise to allow you to see your old partner just yet."_

_You could handle Red Alert and the other hospital medics being restrictive. You could handle Mainframe and Ironfist being secretive. You could even handle Alpha Trion, being there for support._

_But Ratchet. This doctor who's fought in a war past, lived in that time eleven megacycles ago, and has been trapped on another planet for a vorn. He knows nothing. Nothing that you know. He certainly doesn't know about what you've done, or what Wheeljack has sacrificed for you. And with this unusual sympathy, your famous self-control and restrain disappears._

_"WHY NOT?!"_

_The older mech is rendered speechless, as are Alpha Trion, Mainframe, and Red Alert holding up Ironfist. And the silence becomes too much. You turn back to start walking._

_"Wait, Percy."_

_Ironfist's murmurs halt you one more time. He was not a bot that was known for murmuring, much less pleading._

_"Please, listen. If not to any of us here, to me. Trust me when I say it's best to wait and let 'Jack rest before you see him."_

_Despite how much you care about Ironfist, you care nothing for his pleas to stop. Why? Why is he preventing you from seeing your own partner? His own mentor? Who he's cared about as much as you, upholding the white mech like a mech creator._  
><em>Your processor is screaming at you to stop, but you are beyond reason now.<em>

_"Perceptor!"_

_You find, with equal parts thrill and terror, that you are running on pure instinct. And why not?_

_So you come to the door. With a defiant scan of the Autobot insignia on one of your dials and a wave of your servo, it opens. There is nothing keeping you back._

_For the first time in a long while, you feel powerful enough to do anything._

_"No. Stop. No more."_

_And the feeling goes as quickly as it came._

_"Let him go. It's too late-"_

_A drop of nausea and shock replaces the momentary spark of adrenaline._

_"-What? Why-?"_

_Voices of any bot that followed you dissipate behind you._

_"You don't want to be in there….."_

_The room is a cold, dark space, filled with nothing but wires and IV drips and little blinking lights. There is one singular light in the room, and it shines down upon…something. You don't recognize the 'something', almost concealed with wires and tubes and support systems._

_Then you notice the frame and the lone doorwing where there used to be two. The large servos and the imposing stature. Optics, normally open and bright with optimism and excitement, are shut tight in an impassive faceplate. The signature mask is replaced with steelbelt bindings stained with energon. And support systems, weakly bleeping, with active-signal lights that almost hurt to look at. And injuries._

_Everywhere._

_On his helm. Along his limbs. He's missing his right support servo. His left stabilizing servo up to his kneecap. An open laceration on a piston. But none of these strike you in the spark like the injury in his chassis._

_Where there isn't the finish of his chassis curled like energon-stained ribbons, there is a large hole indicating a blast. The blast ate through most of his chassis, leaving his protoplasm vulnerable. There is a spark-support cube keeping his blinking spark running. The spark is the size of a Cybertronian optic._

_A once pristine, white finish is already grey in places._

_Grey. Grey as death. Suddenly everything, even your vision, seems grey._

_No._

_You open your vocal receptor, and try to speak clearly and strongly, but what comes out sounds like a whimper._

_"Wheeljack?"_

_No response._

_"Wheeljack? Is that you?"_

_Of course it is. You berate yourself for being so stupid at a time like this._

_Even when you were the smartest bot, you were the biggest fool._

_"Why, Wheeljack? Why did you do it? Why did you protect me? You should've let me…..you shouldn't have…..Wheeljack…"_

_Every step towards him is heavy. Every step closer flares the guilt in your spark until you feel you will combust._

_"You weren't supposed to, 'Jack. I was supposed to be the one that takes the hit. You've done nothing wrong. Absolutely nothing!"_

_You manage to place your servos at his berthside. Your servo accidentally brushes against him and you feel his protoplasm, cold and energon-stained beneath his plating._

_"It was me! I am the one to blame! Don't you see? Every rumor about me, every suspicious glance, every reason Chromia Magnus hated me, every reason Moonracer fled from me; all of it was true! Why didn't you listen?! Why did you feel the need to see I wasn't nearly killed?!"_

_Clenched on a rail attached to the berth, your servos grip the metal until it begins to bend its shape into your digits._

_"I deserved it. I deserved to be offline. To join the bots I caused the offlining of. To be damned to whatever Pit, with their screams and terrified looks burned into my processor forever. For someone else, far more intelligent and with much more integrity, to take my place. But you! You just had to be you. You don't deserve this. You don't deserve any of this."_

_It proves too much. You collapse. Megacycles worth of dirty secrets and dead bots and things lost bring you down to your kneecaps._

_"It should've been me. It's should've been me. I should've died. Wheeljack, my friend and partner."_

_This could be a nightmare. This could be reality. But your processor appears to have lost the ability to differentiate. This…._

_"This is wrong. This is unfair. No…no…no….no…"_

_It haunts you even as you fall into stasis._

_The sound of his slowly fading spark beating to the mantra of 'no' that keeps going and going and going._

* * *

><p><strong>Imperatrix Mundi<strong>

or

_ A story of preparations and primping, history in the making, the thunder before the lightning, a fall from grace and a rise to power, leaders and cowards, and the point of no return.  
><em>

_**{Three orbital cycles after the return of Chromia Minor and her team to Cybertron}  
><strong>_

[Cybertron, Streets of Iacon, near Fortress Maximus] 

The solar cycle is finally upon us.

At the gates of the Fortress Maximus, between the line of giant holographs of past Magni and the settling crowd, there's a three tier platform that rises out of the ground.  
>It's not very high, as most bots can step up them with ease, but they are spread out wide and high enough so everybot can see the inauguration.<p>

The requested guests stand on the bottom tier. Lancer, the other femmes of Team Quintessa, and I will be on one side, and Jazz, Optimus Prime, Bumblebee, and Ratchet on the other. Optimus stands next to an empty spot I'm presuming is for Ironhide. I am also going to stand next to Moonracer. Where's Firestar?

On the second tier are the Councilbots: Botanica, Cliffjumper, and Perceptor. And two of their bodyguards. It startles me; just how few bots remain on the Council now.  
>The topmost tier remains empty, for that is where Sentinel, Alpha Trion, and Chromia will appear and stand for the ceremony.<p>

What ceremony?  
>I think almost every bot here on Cybertron has come to witness history in the making: the stripping of Magnus rank from one bot and the immediate transfer onto another bot.<p>

And where am I?

"Moonie…..ugh, Moonie, stop!"

"But, 'Mia, the color and pattern suits you so well!"

"I'm Acting Magnus, not Queen. Why the frag am I wearing this?!"

"Because Tracks recommended it. And I kinda agree with him."

"I'd sooner whack myself in the head with the Magnus hammer."

"Oh, 'Mia, you're being melodramatic."

The sound of Chromia's servo hitting her faceplate resounds in the room.

Moonracer, Ironhide, Chromia, and I are in a covered-off area near the stage. Ironhide is her bodyguard.

Sentinel has his own area to the left of the Tier. Tracks had picked out a cape for 'Mia to wear for her inauguration. The dark blue surface and the glittering stars shine with every frustrated shake she gives it. I find it very beautiful.

Chromia, on the other servo…..

"I look like an Alpha Trion wannabe. Shoot me, someone."

She shoots a look at Ironhide. He smiles and shakes his head.

"Sorry, Chromia ma'am. No can do."

Aww, what a gentlemech.

"Please, 'Mia. Please please please. It looks beautiful on you."

"Only because she makes it real pretty. Ain't that right….Chromia Magnus?"

I see her swallow and force herself to look in the mirror.

And what she apparently sees causes her to suddenly smash the reflective surface with one fist.

Moonracer gasps and hurries to yank her servo out. Ironhide's optics widen and he hastens to the future Magnus' side. I wait for any further orders.

"Moonie, Moonie, STOP. I'm good. I've suffered worse than this. You know." She then glances over at Ironhide. "So do you, 'Hide. Now both of you stop worrying."

"Chromia, you punched a mirror. That's not normal, even for you."

"Sweetspark, relax."

"I can't relax! You punched a mirror for no good reason. A mirror! Why?"

"Because I look like Jerkaft Magnus. Cape, blue finish, shoulderpad kibble. Inject some steroids into my chin and just call me Sentinela Prime. Frag everything. I'm done with this." She rips the beautiful thing from her kibble and flings it out the opening in the tent.

No one speaks for a klik. I decide to fetch the cloak, shuffling out.

"You are nothing like Sentinel, 'Mia. Nothing."

Moonracer knows her better than the rest of the femmes, even Firestar, and Chromia doesn't speak a word.  
>I walk in to her pulling in her apprentice for a crushing hug, her damaged servo leaving glowing pink streaks on the younger femme's finish.<p>

"And 'Mia, you're wounded. Can we get Green to extract the shards and wrap your servo with steelbelt bindings, at least?"

The blue femme looks over to me. "I suppose, to avoid further energon loss. I need every drop of it today. Just the shards, though, Green. I'll take care of my servo after."

I walk over and, gently taking it, inspect it. She did give the mirror a hard punch, but there is little damage to the circuitry in either her palm or digits, so I take a pair of needletip tweezers from a compartment on my frame and begin yanking the shards out.

I rerun a hologram of Moonracer exclaiming in her feminine, airy tone, 'MIA! Please be more careful!' I fully expect Fearless Leader's half-sparked roll of optics.

I do not expect Ironhide's expression of surprise and awe, his optics widening. "Whoa. Chromia. Chromia, ma'am! Ya didn't tell me ye had a Special in yer team!"

A Special. It was a positive term for Cybertronians that had unusual powers, such as being able to stop time, download abilities, or could fly without propulsion systems. 'Special' was a more encouraging designation for such bots; much more than 'freak' or 'half-formed' or some other degrading insult.

Chromia is confused for a klik, then presses her uninjured servo against her forehead.

"Frag, I can be forgetful sometimes. Ironhide, this is Greenlight. She's our official medic, archivist, and armor specialist. She doesn't speak much, so she uses her own memories and emits a hologram of anything she's seen via optics to communicate.  
>Green, this is Ironhide. We've been close since WAY before Academy times. He has the ability to manipulate his near-indestructible protoplasm to cover his finish, as a 'second armor' of sorts. I think he'd love explaining to you how it works."<p>

I'm not too sure how I feel about him, but if he's a friend of Chromia's, he's acceptable. I extend a polite nod towards him. He quietly tilts his helm towards me in reply.

I think he'd treat me different if I were a mech. The accent is a giveaway that he was raised on Moonbase 1, the one with our energon farms and refineries. Mechs there are raised to respect femmes.

"Five kliks 'til ceremony commencement!"

The statement interrupts my thoughts, and I work faster to get the miniscule silvers of mirror out of 'Mia's servo before she has to walk out into the Tier.

"Got it!", Ironhide barks back. Then he turns his attention to me.

"Miss Greenlight, not to be rude, but are ya almost done? 'Mia's handled much worse than a few cuts from a little mirror, ain't that right, Chromia ma'am?"

"Don't 'ma'am' me, 'Hide. I ain't that old", she replies with a little drawl mimicking Ironhide's accent, a cheeky smirk gracing her vocal receptor.

No distractions, Green! I hurry to extract every shard as the nanokliks count down. At three kliks until commencement, I yank out the last little bugger. Hurriedly shoving the tweezers back into my compartment, I rub some ibuprofium I had leftover into her finish, having found a tube of it with the tweezers.

"Pain relief grease?"

"Better safe than sorry, 'Mia", Moonracer says, peeking outside the tent before retracting her head. "One-and-a-half kliks."

Chromia firmly nods and wrings her servo out of my grasp. Ironhide goes behind her and reassuringly rubs her shoulderplates.

"You will be a great Magnus, Chromia, _Pro Temporare_ or not. No matter what they say. If any of 'em give you trouble when yer doin' the hardest job of any Autobot, you send 'em to me, got it? I'll straighten 'em out for ya."

I leave before they do, to secure my spot on the tier, but I manage to see Moonracer nod encouragingly at Chromia, and extend her servo gracefully towards her mentor. The pale green femme will be our Leader's escort, to her right, while Ironhide will flank Chromia to her left.

The crowds are a sight to behold, filling the shadowed ground level of Fortress Maximus. The tier, stark white against the shade of the immense building, has almost every bot present and accounted for, and I hurry to take my spot next to my cousin.

"Firestar's here", Lancer whispers to me. "I think she was having ankle-joint problems again. Oh, and nothing too bad happened with Fearless leader, I take it?"

A memory replays in my holograms. Chromia answers the ninjabot with, "I got a good pep talk with Moonracer. I'm good. Don't worry, 'kay?"

Anything more my cousin wishes to tell me is silenced by the loud fanfare, demanding a hush upon the crowd. The clamour of bots dies down to the booming voice of Alpha Trion.

"Greetings, my fellow Autobots. This solar cycle, while unexpected, is a necessary and welcome one. As you all know, Ultra Magnus, who is still on spark support but unharmed, thank Primus, needs our brightest and best on the frontline to protect Cybertron. He has officially stated that, in his condition, there be a Magnus_ pro temporare_. So we elected such a bot and put them into power.

"However, after stellar cycles of observation, Ultra Magnus has decided the current Magnus _Pro Temporare _is needed in other areas of importance. He has decreed that the title and rank of Magnus _Pro Temporare_ is given to someone with a longer duration of experience relevant to the position."

The aged mech extends his servos majestically, then drops one to his pulpit and extends the other to his left. The silence and awe of the crowd is deafening.  
>I wonder why, until I realize that the public is not yet aware of who the Council chose to replace Sentinel.<p>

Won't they be surprised.

"Sentinel Magnus, come to the stand."

To the left of Alpha Trion is Sentinel, with a dark blue cape hanging from his shoulderpads. His cape is embossed with maps of Cybertron's surface. There are exaggerated armor plates on his shoulderpads, chassis, and on his back, orange and beige and attention-grabbing. His haughty smirk seems almost painted onto his faceplates.  
>He is being humbled, and he doesn't like it.<p>

"Sentinel, while you claim vorns of experience to your designation, the Council's observations as well as recent actions and behaviors leave us wondering whether you are truly suited for the responsibility of Magnus, or if you simply relay your commitments to other bots, taking credit for hard work that isn't yours.  
>The Council's observations, combined with the choices of Ultra Magnus, have made our final decision clear: you are currently unfit for the role of Magnus<em> Pro Temporare<em>.  
>We hereby strip this position from you, demoting you to the rank of Prime. This will be until you can prove you are fit for the role of Magnus<em> Pro Temporare<em>."

Nothing happens, but everybot in the audience can practically taste his defeat. But the palpable discomfort goes away when we all see Alpha Trion extend his other servo to his right. I know who will stand there, but many are still surprised when they hear,

"Chromia Minor, come to the stand."

Like the majestic Beta Magnus, late sparkmate of Alpha Trion himself, the blue femme strides to the right of the pulpit.

Gasps scatter across the crowds as Chromia Minor stops.  
>The starry cloak is there, but instead of hanging from her shoulderpads like Sentinel, two corners of the thing wrap around her pistons, and the rest of the material trails behind.<br>Unlike the showy Sentinel, she has a polished gun strapped to her left piston, a smaller one concealed inside of her right thighplate, and Autobot insignias on each kibble.

She looks discontent, almost like she doesn't want to be there, but I can't deny the ends of her vocal labi perked upwards.  
>Dignified. That's the word I'm thinking. She looks dignified. If not for the scars in her finish, 'elegant' could be tacked on after 'dignified'.<p>

I take advantage of the momentary shock to gauge reactions. Most of the crowd is taken aback, especially Rodimus Prime near the inner ring of bots.  
>I look at the tier, and a lot of the bots here are impassive. Optimus Prime shoots Chromia a stately smile and a respectful nod, and she catches it. She returns the nod coolly, but even from my position below, I notice one end of her smile quirk up.<br>Her gaze falls on Jazz, who gives her a warm smile and a friendly salute. Her smile is wide and open this time.  
>I glance over at my teammates. A sagelike press of palms and a bow from Lancer, a thumbs-up and salute from Firestar, and I lightly curtsy for her.<p>

Moonracer appears the most proud of us. Her servos at her sides clench in excitement, and, looking up at the femme that protected and trained and practically raised her for the last few megacycles, happily waves at her when Chromia looks over. Our leader's usually tense faceplates soften, and she quickly blows a kiss to her apprentice.

A stark contrast to Perceptor's expression.  
>It occurs to me that he probably knew that she was going to be instated as Acting Magnus before the public did, so he remains impassive as ever.<br>His periscope obscures his faceplate most of the time, so I can't get a good look at him. I really want to know what is running through his processor, seeing Chromia now.  
>I still remember her angry outburst at him in the wreckage of the Guild Scientius, about two orbital cycles ago. I wonder if he still remembers.<p>

If it has influenced his perception of the blue femme.

"Chromia, while you have not been on Cybertron for approximately one thousand stellar cycles, word of vocal receptor as well as past records have indicated exemplary leadership skills.  
>Further observations and testaments display a spark for bots under you, as well as strength and strategy on the battlefield, and courage to speak up for others, as well as courage to do what is right.<br>Your former rank and mentorship has also been taken into account, and all of these things have persuaded Ultra Magnus and the Autobot High Council to promote you to the rank and position of Magnus_ Pro Temporare_."

This time, Alpha Trion lays a servo upon the Autobot Insignia on her chassis, and the lone, red aegis of the insignia is suddenly surrounded with white. The colors of her finish shift and morph, and white chevrons unfurl from the famous red faceplate.  
>While Cybertronians can change the colors of their finish at will, very few bots in history have the astounding ability to change the colors and designs of other bots.<p>

When the elder removes his servo, the symbol of the Autobot Elite Guard, red mask and white wings rampant, blazes proudly against the cobalt blue of the gunslinger's plating.

"You are now a member of the Autobot Elite Guard, the lieutenant commander-in-chief of the Autobot High Council, and the second-in-command of the Autobots. I, Alpha Trion, ask you to come forward and speak…Chromia Magnus."

At first, there is silence. Do the Autobots reject her as their Acting Magnus?

Moonracer and her girls cheer. Then Ironhide and his new teammates, for Team Athenia has disbanded, and he has joined Optimus' squadron.

Then the crowd.

Metallic confetti flies upwards, falling on everyone. Servos wave and reach towards the top of the tier. The triumphant whooping and shouting of the Autobots, welcoming their new Acting Magnus, resounds for hics around.

"CHRO-MI-A! CHRO-MI-A! CHRO-MI-A!"

And I record every sight and sound with dizzy euphoria.

Until, in the midst of the chanting and cheering, I faintly hear Lancer's quip.

"Can't you believe it, Cous? Chromia as Acting Magnus. This will change everything."

And that is where my happiness for my leader and friend dwindles enough for me to ponder.

…_This will change everything….._

Only time will tell whether the change is for better or for worse.

* * *

><p>Author's Notes:<p>

A note about those weird, 'unrelated' moments before you get to the title, setting, and timemark of the chapter you are reading. From here on out, I will start calling those moments before you get to the 'real' chapter the '**Preamble**' of the chapter. It's not just for you, but for me, too. So I don't keep calling it 'that-artsy-writer's-bit-before-the-real-chapter-o f-every-chapter moment'.

Man, that italicized Preamble with Percy's nightmare…..that thing was a _beast_ to write. Almost 17 pages. Sorry for dragging that out, guys.

Steelbelt bindings are Cybertronian versions of bandages. They come in a wide array of colors, lengths, and uses.

Ibuprofium, from ibuprofen, a type of medicine.

If you have any questions about what you've read, anything in it, etc., please, feel free to ask. Otherwise, leave a review and read the next chapter! And thank you for enduring this chapter. :)

~Ylysha


	10. Ponder This

Aloha, my pretties!

I'm so glad of the amount of readers I've gained in the forced 8-month hiatus of _Penumbra_. Welcome, and I thank God for you all. :)

I've gotten a job interview this past week, with the BOSS of the business. Pretty nervous, but I think I hit off things well with him.

Enough about me, , by now, you are all acquainted with the Cybertronian terminology I use in this fic. If not….

Body Parts (all approximate, and the anatomical chart I use for my stories):

Hands = Servos  
>Arms = Support Servos<br>Legs = Stabilizing Servos  
>Tongue = Glossa<br>Teeth = Denta  
>Feet = Landing Pads<br>Shoulders and Knees = Shoulderplates and kneeplates, respectively  
>Eyes = Optics<br>Fingers = Digits  
>Hips = Pistons<br>Lips = Vocal Labi  
>Mouth = Vocal Receptor<br>Ears = Audio Receptor  
>Neck = Chassis Pillar<br>Torso/Chest = Chassis  
>Body = FrameShell  
>Skin = Protoplasm<br>Brain = Processor  
>Sections of brain = Lobes<p>

Units of Time (all approximate, and the chronological chart I use for my stories):

Any time less than a second = Microklik  
>Second = Nanoklik<br>Minute = Klik  
>8.3 Minutes = Breem<br>Hour = Cycle  
>6 Hours = Joor<br>Day (both day and night) = Solar Cycle  
>Week = Decacycle<br>Month = Orbital Cycle  
>6 MonthsHalf a Stellar Cycle = Orn  
>Year = Stellar Cycle<br>83 Years = Vorn  
>Approx. 100 years = Megacycle<p>

Cybertronian Units of Length (all approximate, and the metrical chart I use for my stories)

**Klep** – 1 Decimeter (0.10 m)  
><strong>Kil<strong> – 1 Fathom (6 ft.)**  
>Mechanometer<strong> – 1 Meter (m)  
><strong>Megamile<strong> – 1 Decameter (10 m)**  
>Kix<strong> – 1 Hectometer (100 m)  
><strong>Microquad<strong> – 2 ½ Hectometers (250 m)  
><strong>Hic<strong> – 1 Kilometer (1,000 m, or 4 microquads)  
><strong>Vun<strong> – 1 knot (6086 ft.)  
><strong>Solar Rek<strong> – 1 League (3 knots)

Hope this helps.

From now on, all Author's Notes, if any, will be at the bottom, after the chapter.  
><strong><br>**DISCLAIMER = _Transformers: Animated _belongs to Hasbro. But this plot is MINE.

* * *

><p><strong>Category: Personal Projects [CONFIDENTIAL]<br>Project: PENUMBRA  
>File Type: Personal Logs<br>Subjects: CONFIDENTIAL  
>Course of Study: DISTANT OBSERVATION and light EXPERIMENTATION<br>Reason(s): CONFIDENTIAL  
>Head of Project: Fisitron<br>**  
><strong>Description: Please contact Head of Project for more information. Further information will not be disclosed within confines of file(s).<strong>

**Entry #4 - Fisitron:**

**It's been a long, long while, but I rejoice, for I have time to write again. My spark is light but my processor is heavy.  
><strong>  
><strong>So far, things have been amiable between Subjects Alpha and Beta. They are becoming more and more acquainted, solar cycle by solar cycle. The progress seems miniscule, but it's there.<strong>

**The biggest of my concerns is the recent promotion of Subject Kappa. She now has a steady job, a new office, and the power to help the bots she feels needs the help.**

**If only she can place Alpha in that category. She still holds resentment towards him. This will greatly interfere with the friendship between Alpha and Beta.  
>According to Sigma, already she displays aggressive behavior towards him, and has made it disturbingly clear that she does not like him.<strong>

**I know why.**

**Confession time: I do not know exactly what has happened between Alpha and Beta before Beta went away on her long trip, but I do know it was bad enough to make Alpha depressed and irritable. He tended to drown his sorrows in high-grade and lock himself away in his quarters.**

**Poor mech.**

**That, coupled with a few other things, probably sparked the accident in the Citadel.**

**But, back to Kappa.**

**I was there when she got her promotion. There are a whole bunch of bots invited to her promotion, and Alpha was one of them. I was one of them as well, but I digress.**

**What confuses me is how passive he was the whole time. You'd think after watching someone that hated your circuits be promoted in a position higher than you, you'd be worried about your wellbeing.**  
><strong>If he was worried, he hid it well.<strong>

**Too well.**

**The terror didn't begin until two cycles after the ceremony.**  
><strong>Back at the Citadel, Sigma was there, standing guard as Alpha had one of the worse anxiety attacks I've ever seen.<strong>  
><strong>For my fans who are not in the know, there are different kinds of anxiety attacks.<strong>

**Most anxiety attacks can be really small ones, like feeling your spark getting tighter and simply imagining horrible things, to full-out attacks that can cause stasis. I know they're usually caused by a trigger, though the trigger could simply be a fear of something, since bots with anxiety disorders worry too much.**

**This particular attack was an obvious one, with Alpha curled in fetal position on a cleared table. The mech was murmuring, and his optics, normally smaller and lidded, were wide open in shock. He was rocking back and forth on his side, with Sigma standing over him, ready to get him whatever he needed.**  
><strong>Sigma had a cube of low-grade in his hand. The darker tint of the energon indicated he had added something to it. My best guess is, at least, a shot of placidium, a type of anesthetic.<strong>  
><strong>He was trying to get Alpha to consume it, but only got a shaking bot pushing it away every time he tried to bring it to his vocal receptor.<strong>

**And then Beta came.**

**Out of nowhere, it seemed, she hurried in and ask Sigma what happened. There was an exchange of words, and Sigma held up the cube with defeat. Beta tried to talk to Alpha, but he only curled himself in tighter.**

**So you know what Sigma and Beta did?**

**They sat there.**  
><strong>Just sat there.<strong>  
><strong>Pulled up chairs, or a chair in Sigma's case.<strong>  
><strong>Beta leapt up and sat on the table, carefully bringing Alpha's head into her lap and keeping it there. She patted him lightly and, alongside Sigma, just sat there. They both talked with him the whole time.<strong>

**And waited.**

**And waited.**

**And waited for what seemed like joors.**

**Until finally Alpha hesitantly took the cube and, with some encouragement from Sigma, downed it in one go.**  
><strong>Beta clapped a little and seemed to cheer, holding out her servo to take the cube away to get it cleaned.<strong>

**There was talking, a nod from Alpha, and, with a pat on the doorwing to Sigma and a bow to Beta, he goes about his business.**

**And how did I gather all this without being seen?**

**Confidential information, my friends.**

**Oh, here's Hunter again. She's reading this and making it painfully clear that should Alpha find out I'm documenting his breakdown and discover his alias, he will offline me.**

**Thanks a lot, Hunter.**

**The worse is over now, and we can move around again. But I still worry a little. If this is what happened when Kappa got her promotion, what will happen if she ever needs Alpha for something? Or if he needs her for something? Alpha's health is already a risky matter, since he really does not like medical checkups.**

**Well, he doesn't like the touching part of the whole ordeal.**

**Is that what worries him the most? That if Kappa would ever lay a servo on him, it would be to hurt him?**

**Because if that's the case, or he has another breakdown, I fear Beta will not be there to help him.**

**There is too much that is being kept secret, too much that doesn't feel right.**

**This requires more research, more looking into. I need to know more, and I will continue my studies as time goes by.**

**May Primus be with me, as with Alpha and Beta.**

**Signing out: Fisitron**

** Ponder This****  
><strong>  
>or<p>

_A story of kindly leaders, foreign tongues, explaining things, eavesdropping, gathering information, a cameo from a familiar name, putting the pieces together, and a sad realization.  
><em>

_**{Five solar cycles after the commencement of Chromia Magnus}**_

[Fortress Maximus]

Well, shit.

I have never seen the Fortress Maximus in more chaos than this. How much does instating a new Acting Magnus change, anyway?

"It takes solar cycles, even megacycles, to fully replace one bot with another", Ironfist told me when I asked.

Well, am I glad to be smaller than everyone else. I'm very good at not getting squished, so getting things done is just a matter of running.

Problem: even if I run today, I am going to fucking miss the bot I'm trying to get. I like Ultra Magnus enough not to be letting him down with something so small.  
>So I had roped Fizzy into helping me be on time. Just to walk me close enough to the newly risen Chromia Magnus. Her new office is in the heart of the Fortress, and I just need to get a parcel from her boss to her.<p>

My excitement of meeting the lady is killed by the absolute insanity of bots running to and fro.

"Where is everyone even going? I mean, damn, I haven't heard of an attack anywhere, or shit like that."

Ironfist groans, but plants me down on his shoulderplate and prepares to 'swim' through the rabble.

"Brace yourself, Verity."

It's actually not too bad, once some bots see the fleshy organic perched on another bot's shoulderplate and veer to avoid both of us.

"Oh, shut up, I'm not infected with Cosmic Rust, you lot, now…..can I go through?"

"Fizzy, remember what I taught you-if you're going to be assertive, be assertive all the way through. Don't be assertive, then ask the favor politely. Bots step all over you for that."

"Verity, with all due respect, I have been taught to be polite. That it'll help me in the long run."

"Unless it's Skyfall. Then you're more rude than me."

I see his optics roll, and I can practically feel the groan coming, but we bump into another bot, and that groan comes out as a shrill, "Eep! Oh, Primus, I am so sorry! I didn't see you there!"

"Heh, don't worry about it. I'm big and tall for my bodytype. I won't throw you into prison for it."

The voice is a tougher, older tone, but unmistakably feminine.

"Oh, Chromia Magnus! Hello!"

I look up and I see her at ground level, up close, for the first time. The infamous Chromia Magnus, tall and blue like the Detriot sky at 8am, with these angled metal plates on the sides of her head. And blue lips; vocal labi, the Cybertronians referred to them as. And wide shoulders, and strong legs, and metallic hands with long fingers. And scars. Everywhere. There was even a thin one on her chin.

She looks good for an alien several Earth centuries old.

"And this is Verity Carlo of Earth, Chromia Magnus, ma'am. Scribe to Ultra Magnus, and an Ambassador for Technologic-Organic Inter-species Relations. Contrary to popular belief, she is not contaminated, nor does she spew corrosive acid."

Her blazing blue eyes glance over to me, moving around in their sockets, studying me. Unlike Sentinel, with disgust, or like some scientists, with morbid curiosity, the female Magnus studies me with unabashed curiosity.

She reminds me of Athena, the Greek goddess of war, knowledge, and medicine. The power in the way she stands, even if at ease, and the regality of her frame. I've heard of her fearlessness and strength on a battlefield, and I doubt she'd even be a Magnus if she wasn't smart.

A tilt of her head to the left, and her mouth opens, revealing silver-white dental plates and a gray-green tongue of sorts.  
>"An ambassador, hmm? You look young, around my apprentice's age in Cybertronian equivalent. How long have you been on Cybertron, Verity Carlo?"<p>

"Almost two stellar cycles, Chromia Magnus, ma'am. And if you don't mind, just Verity. No need for my last name."

"Just Verity. Okay. Then just call me Chromia, or Mia. None of that ma'am slag, and that goes for you too, Ironfist. I like you, Verity. And you're not exactly a stranger to me, weaponsmith."

His eyes widen and he retracts his usual mask. "_Afx zo nju thrre feh kybbn suvna kei _Scientius_ qwn, huc afxg_." ("**I was under the impression you hated scientists, like me.**")

Wait, what?

Chromia seems to understand, good-naturedly replying, "_Afx uop klm feh, feh gduv tyr vhb. Cth crs, koon sefg vubuir xez._" ("**I trust you, you and some others. Believe me, I don't hate you guys.**")

The orange-and-teal engineer locks gazes with his Magnus. In a deadly serious tone, he retorts, "_Thrre yidd uopl_ Percy _nekkkwoq bh_-" ("**Percy is not your enemy and you should-**")

"-_LGNV_." ("**DON'T**" or "**STOP**") This once-warm femme suddenly growls, and the iciest glare I've seen from her so far is directed at Fizzy.

The look he throws back at his Acting Magnus is a look he has only given one other bot: Skyfall. He hates that jerk with his entire being.

The fuck just happened? Much as I hate being left in the dark, the fact that they used another freaking language is enough for to know I'm not part of the conversation.

But I don't want these two friends to hate each other's circuits, and, thank God or Primus or whoever up there, I have the perfect distraction.

"Chromia Magnus, ma'am, we are on official military business!" Both bots, surprised by just how loud I could be, turn and stare, but I just roll my eyes.

"Basically, your Bossbot wanted me to give you this." I hold up the data slug Ultra Magnus tasked me with delivering. It's about 14 centimeters wide by 20 centimeters long, and chrome-colored with an Autobot symbol. It feels large and clunky in my hands, but it's tiny and delicate in the servo that reaches for it.

Slowly, she takes it from me, and coolly nods her head. "Thanks, Verity."

"He believes in you, you know", I blurt as she stores the data slug in a...subspace, I think it's called. "I gave him some report of how your coronation-commencement-whatever the frag you call it went, and he knows about some of the older bots giving you slag about being an Acting Magnus. I'm sorry about that, I am. Ultra Magnus tells me you're gonna do great, and you'd be one of the best if you didn't drink so much."

Any tension from her earlier spat with Fizzy melts away, and she laughs and shakes her head.

"That's not going to happen. And Ironfist of Vos, have you been teaching her Cybertronian curse words?"

This lady is frickin' insane, I swear.

"No!", he yelps, though indignantly, and not out of fear. "She learned those herself!"

"So did I", the Acting Magnus replies, tucking her digits into one servo and extending the fist to me. She holds it within my reach, and I bump my own little fleshy fist against it.

"So you've learned a fist bump, too?"

"Nah. We've got the same thing on Earth. We do fist bumps with people we like."

"Heh. Smart femme. I knew I liked you, Verity. Now, I have some important slag to get to, as well as seeing what's in this slug, so you both should leave before some organic-phobe starts a riot. Bye for now."

She turns around and strides away. On the way, she leapfrogs over another bot, much to the bot's immediate displeasure. The last we hear and see is a carefree chuckle and a swing of her hips down another hallway a few meters away.

Or would that be kilometers?

Being human is hard on this planet.

Being human is fucking hard, period.

We exit Fortress Maximus, and Ironfist takes me off his shoulderplate and places me down.

"Chromia is awesome."

"Unless she's angry."

"She ain't angry all the time. No one can be angry all the time. Not even Decepticons can be angry all the time."

"I'm sure there's one who is."

He transforms into his alt-mode, and waits for me to hop in before driving off.

"So, where to now? Your shift with Ultra Magnus is over, so is there anyplace else you'd like to go?"

"Just back to your workshop, if you don't have somewhere to be. I've got questions for you."

"Well, I'm headed to the Guild, but you might as well ask me now. Just talk; I'll drive."

"Okay. You know you can go faster, right? I thought there wasn't a frickin' speed limit on these roads. Meh. Now, I know I heard 'Percy' in your foreign language rabble with 'Mia, and-WHOA!"

Fizzy screeches to a stop, his tires grinding on the blacktop surface of the planet. I've been smart enough to strap myself in, but it still hurts a little when the seatbelt tightens momentarily against my boobs.

"Hey, what gives?"

"I don't know what they teach you on Earth, but here on Cybertron, it's rude to listen in on conversations."

I roll my eyes for, what, the third time now?  
>"Let me explain to you a thing:<p>

One, your conversation will definitely be more fucking interesting and attract more attention if a) you speak it in another fragging language, and b) you mention someone that others know the nicknames of.

Two, I could tell you were angry at Chromia. For what? She isn't Skyfall. She isn't taking credit for your hard work, nor does she give you a hard time every time you're actually working.

And Three, I've known you for about two stellar cycles. Am I normally fucking polite? Especially on a planet where bots still have problems with organics? No."

Ironfist doesn't answer.

So I wait.

And wait.

And wait.

Dude, I'm not a patient human. Do something. Say something. I think we're holding up traffic. Oh, no, we're not. Still. Fuck, Ironfist. Do something say something.

"Chromia hates Perceptor for some odd reason. I can't figure out why."

"Seriously? And she won't tell anyone why?"

"I think someone knows why. Someone. Just don't know who. It's something that's been on my processor for a while now. Maybe she's just worried about Perceptor getting too close to Moonracer. She probably won't admit it out loud, but she's real protective of her apprentice. The way Wheeljack is around me."

"Are we almost there? Oh, yeah, we are. I kept forgetting that you're running. Let me explain to you another thing.  
>One, not that I fucking hate your mentor or anything, but Wheeljack doesn't protect you very well from Skyfall if the Aussie-speaking jerk still gives you shit."<p>

"S-shit?"

"Slag. And two, it's not like the microscope is fucking dating the femme. He probably never met her before she started working at the Guild Scientius. Has he ever found a girl, or been in love before? He doesn't seem like the type to give up science just for a relationship."

We come up to the place, and I hop out and run to the giant silver doors and the red orb in the middle.

And I wait.

And wait.

"Fizzy? Fi-zzy. IRONFIST!"

I yell to the motionless alt-mode, and after a minute, he abruptly transforms back into bot mode.

"Sorry, Verity. I was thinking. Got a little lost."

"Of what?"

The mask is back on. If he's not talking now, he doesn't want me to know.

"Fine, be like that. I could help you, you know."

"It's a long, LONG story. And an incomplete one. And…..messed up, to put it lightly."

"A mighty dark plot, hmmm?"

He nods. "A mighty dark and complicated one."

Dark grey, large fingers open up the red orb, punch in the right codes, and pick me off the ground as the doors of the Science Guild open with a resounding hiss.  
>From my perch in the palm of his right servo, I feel like a bird, flying through the Guild, seeing some of the 'prototypes' and models of various vehicles in the shelves. Some of this 'antique' stuff is well advanced by human standards, but I don't get to fully admire any of it.<p>

Until Ironfist skids to a halt.

"Verity, shh. No question, just shh. I hear something."

He goes up against a wall, and transfers me to his other hand and holds me up closer. I crawl to the tips of his digits and lean in to the source of the sound.

I am so grateful that I'm wearing shorts.

"…..Forgive me if you will, Moonracer. You were not here, but approximately two stellar cycles ago, we found a mole within the Autobot faction: the Decepticon Shockwave, disguised as an Intel bot, one Longarm Prime. Ever since, many Autobots that worked with him are 'on edge'….including myself, regrettably."

Ironfist's mask suddenly slides open, simultaneously revealing his look of shock and surprise, and nearly giving us away. I shoot him a 'what the fuck?' look, and he shoots back an irritated 'Don't judge me!' look. We go back to being eavesdropping little fuckers, the weaponsmith quietly sliding his mask back into place.

"Don't worry about it, Perceptor."

Then the dialogue is replaced with sounds of little dainty science tools clanking, and being picked up, and being used, and the scrape of Cybertronian plating against a metal table. "And, of course, you were there during the explosion in the east wing of the Guild Scientius. I….."

"What, what is it? You know you can tell me."

"...I am frustrated at myself, frankly. I should've forseen most, if not all, of these occurrences. How did I allow myself to believe everything would be safe and protected? Even now, despite how patient and kind you've been to me, I find myself hesitant to trust you, as well as many bots."

"You trust Wheeljack, yes?"

"He's helped me through many things."

"That's a first."

"What is?"

"You being vague."

"Hmmm. I suppose nothing escapes the optic of a sharpshooter."

"Don't be so sure. I'm still a little clumsy. I can make errors, and I am wrong at times."

"Then that makes two of us, Moonracer. We have one more attribute in common."

"It's not a unique trait. Other bots can, and are, wrong at times."

"You're one of the few I've heard admit it. Which I find appealing."

"You like that I'm honest?"

"I like that you can admit when you are in error. And your honesty? Why, yes. I do."

"….Thank you."

Then there's the sound of heavy footfalls. And a high-pitched scraping sound, followed by some swearing.

"JaAmed thing. Ah, Percy. Moonie. I see you two are getting along."

"Moonracer is proving to be a very fast learner, and of great assistance. No ill will towards you, Wheeljack. You are still valuable to the Guild Scientius."

"None taken, Perce."

"It's almost as if you've worked with me before", the scientist says.  
>I lean out just enough to see Moonracer and Wheeljack look at each other, with the mint-green femme wincing and the big guy looking downcast.<p>

They fucking know something Ironfist and I don't. Suspicion, suspicion.

After a minute, the awkward looks go away, and while Wheeljack carts away this large box he's carrying, Moonie looks back at Percy.

I can call him Percy in my head; why the fuck not?

He looks back up at her, and his prodding at something with a scalpel stops.

The two bots seem suspended in time, just calmly staring at each other, but even at this distance I can tell there's…..something ….there.  
>The suspension is broken by her smiling at him, and his slightly embarrassed look before returning to his work.<p>

I crawl out of sight and whisper to Ironfist, "RUN."

Making his footfalls as light as he can, he clutches me safely in his servo and sprints out of there, not stopping until we've reached the safety of his rebuilt workshop at the Guild.

The doors open. Close. We pause, Ironfist calming down while I catch my breath.

Then one shared exhale.

"I KNOW I did not imagine that", Fizzy exclaims, gently putting me down as he scrambles to find a datapad.

"Percy with expressions? The way he admitted to Moonie that he liked her honesty? The look they shared?" I look around the worktable I'm standing on for my black hoodie. "I think somebot lied their aft off about this whole thing. The whole 'Percy-got-his-feelings-deleted' shit. I don't believe a fragging word of it."

The weaponsmaker stops his scrambling, turning on his datapad.  
>"Verity….let me explain to you a thing. My mentor trusts me. He told me all he knows-"<p>

"-And we found out that he had been hiding a few facts about Percy's accident for, what, centuries? Or megacycles, in your case."

"Only because…..because…well, it's not like the public knows he had memories lost. That isn't gonna help the image of the Guild Scientius; that we couldn't retrieve simple memories of our smartest bot."

I find my hoodie and yank it on. "Or maybe someone didn't want him to remember."

We look at the each other, the same thought echoing in our heads.

"The Metallurgist."

Ironfist begins touching away at his datapad while I try to find my red, metal-plated gloves and boots.

"You think the Metallurgist did something to Percy the solar cycle of the accident? I mean, did something to the machine he was hooked up to? Could be possible. If the microscope was in stasis the whole time, the Metallurgist could've snuck in or something, tampered with the device, then ran away before anyone knew what had happened."

"Not possible. You know that every place here can only be accessed, at least by Cybertronians, by a card or code. The machine was in Percy's personal labs. Everybot that's anybot here has one. Only Percy can access his own labs."

He stops clicking away at his datapad.

"Unless the Metallurgist is strong enough to break down doors. But very few bots, Autobot and Decepticon, can do that. Break down these doors, I mean. They're made out of duranium.  
>Besides, when Wheeljack found out about Percy, he had to break down the door. He had been there the whole time. Perceptor's personal labs don't have any windows, as far as I know.<br>I don't know. This is all confusing. Anyway, what do we know?"

"About this whole clusterfuck? Let's see. About a thousand years ago, Percy and Moonie fought over something, Moonie left, Percy got so depressed he made a thing meant to take away his emotive processes, and it ended up taking both emotions and several memories. Wheeljack hid the part about the memories for a while, probably fucking up a lot of things and confusing the shit out of a lot of bots. A thousand years pass.

Then Chromia and her team comes back, Moonie comes back to the Guild, confronts Percy and finds out he has no idea who she is. He tosses her out, Chromia gets all Mama Bear and threatens to fuck him up, Wheeljack steps in with the truth, and Chromia gets all snarly at the giant nerd for no good reason-"

"-Auuugh! That's what frustrates me! Chromia is part of this….whatever this is, and more than being Moonie's overprotective mentor. I FEEL it."

"I know it, and I believe you, dude. Maybe…"

"…What?"

Unable to find what I'm looking for, I pad over to him with my bare feet. "We can ask her, right? We can ask her what she knows."

"Verity, even if she did know something, she wouldn't outright tell us."

"That would ruin her good reputation and standing as Acting Magnus, now wouldn't it? Besides, I know what some of the bots call her. Chromia the Honest. If she has even a silver of fucking integrity, she wouldn't lie."

"Just because she isn't known for lying doesn't mean she's incapable of it."

"I like her. Even if you don't, you fucking respect her like me. Tell me; what matters the most? Percy's safety, 'Mia's honesty, or the truth?"

"They all matter."

"Which is why we need all three, in full. Look, you obviously can't interrogate a bot to save your life-"

His optics shoot me a look to kill. "You're vvvvery lucky I like you-"

"-and I don't want to grill the femme. We're both on her good side-"

"-You're on her good side. I'm working to ensure she doesn't plug a bullet in my processor."

"-The solar cycle that happens is the solar cycle Percy fucking joins the Wreckers."

Ironfist's glare is replaced by an excitable shine. "That would be cool. If he joined the Wreckers. Dangerous, but awesome. The Wreckers are awesome…"

"Aaaand this is the part where you start rambling on and on about them and shit, and how great they are even though they have to change their oil like you, and go to boring medical checkups like you do, and all the normal shit other bots have to go through. They're not invincible. I know several have died."

"Well, not to worry. I doubt Percy would easily enlist. And besides, they're still running, but very inactive. Not too much action these solar cycles, but only because they take orbital cycles to check and scout recruits. Yes, Percy wouldn't so easily give up science just to go on adventures, however amazing they are. And you'd have to know how to fight, and shoot a gun, sometimes make one. Tough stuff like that. I don't think he even knows how to wield a gun."

He turns and sighs at one of the posters around his private workspace. This one displays, against a spangled background, a mech with bulky shoulders, his armor a deep olive green color. The color is lighter where I assume the protoform shows through his armor. This bot wields two rapier-looking blades, with one perched on his shoulderpad.  
>Springer, I think Fizzy called this one once.<p>

The Wreckers. The red shirts of the Autobots. Poor suicidal bastards, the lot of them. I don't know how many have died, but I can say that despite how powerful they look, I can't take seriously a group with no fucking females. I have heard of no ladies in the Wreckers so far.

Unless they're all gay. Really butch gays.

That's….well, fuck. A species that sends their gays to be the suicide squad, to fight then die for some cause? That's just….fucked up. And that bullshit gets old fast. I can only imagine the amount of social justice groups on Earth that would jump on this shit like lions.

"If you're thinking of ways to sneak into Chromia Magnus' office to hold her hostage so she'll answer your questions, drop it."

You know you're losing it when you're thinking about whether or not robots can be gay, instead of how to get a femme 150 times your size to be truthful to you.

I look up at him, feeling my mouth curl in irritation. "Was not. Promise. And that's fucking stupid. Plus, though she may not talk to you, perhaps she'll talk to me."

"Ironfist!"

The Jersey accent, the casual baritone, and the heavy knock on the door indicate Wheeljack.

"You in there?"

I look up at Ironfist and sigh. "Dude, we're fragged. He fucking knows we were eavesdropping on the scientist and the sharpshooter."

"Relax, relax. I highly doubt that." To the bot behind the door, he responds, "Yes, Wheeljack! Um, you are Wheeljack, right?"

He doesn't even fucking recognize his own mentor?

Oh, wait. I can't believe I fucking forgot.

The attack on Ironfist's workshop. The one that got him hospitalized, the one that brought him to within a centimeter of losing his life. Of course he's more cautious as to who goes into his workshop. Percy, head of the fucking Ministry of Science, can't even set a foot inside without Fizzy present.  
>The only reason I didn't know about until about a fucking week later was because some bots felt to best to hide it from me.<p>

"Hmmm, I dunno. What's our answer when anybot asks what's the difference between science and screwing around?"

A gasp of relief. "Writing it down! It is you!"

Fucking scientists. Make me feel dumber than usual, why don't you? First a foreign language, now nerd jokes?

The door hisses open, and Wheeljack's head slinks in, followed by the rest of his body. "Well, hiya, my hardworking engineer. And hiya to you too, Verity."

Well, it's not like I'm actually mad at either of them.

I really like Wheeljack, just the same as I like Chromia. He's like an Italian from New York, but with more metal and less yelling. Unless there's a fucking explosion. Intelligent, easy-going, rolls-with-the-punches sort. He wears a mask like Fizzy. Has a sense of humor, even when in pieces.  
>And he's the benign Godfather of the Guild Scientius, taking care and looking over every bot in the Ministry of Science. Even the assholes.<p>

I fist-bump him. "Ey. How's it going? And what brings you here?"

"Well, Ironfist, I'm wondering if you have my little storage disk."

Fizzy goes to the poster of Springer and gently pulls it down. It's on a frame, and behind the poster is a safe. But instead of the little handheld dial, there's a codepad. He's about to open it up, but then he almost glares over at Wheeljack and I.

"What, dude?"

"Turn around, please. Both of you. No peeking. Because I know you can read Autobot numerals, Verity."

"Are you fucking serious?"

The only answer I get is an actual glare.

"Oi, fine."

The white engineer and I glance at each other, roll our eyes, and look away. But while Fizzy does what he's doing, the taller bot whispers to me.

"You can read Autobot Cybertronian?"

"Just barely. I can understand it, but speaking and reading it's a little harder. I learn by ear-eh, audio receptor. That's how I've learned to speak Spanish."

"Span-ish?"

"A language on Earth."

"Got it, Wheeljack!"

In Ironfist's hand there's a clear, turquoise-blue data slug-looking thing, the same color as my tank top. There's a symbol on it, white with dark blue outlines, but I don't recognize it. It's wider, and flatter, and reminds me of a bunch of maybe 30 or 35 playing cards stacked together. If those playing cards were the size of billboards.

"Oh, good! Thank you, Ironfist."

"No problem. What's in it, if I may ask?"

The older inventor falls quiet. "…Confidential, Ironfist. Just between Percy and I."

Although he has the mask, I see the tiny stab of hurt in Fizzy's optics. "Oh. That's alright, then. He asked you not to tell?"

Wheeljack walks over and lays a fatherly hand on one of his shoulder joints. "He is my partner, Ironfist. I don't like losing the trust of my fellow scientists. When you have a partner, you'll understand."

"I understand already. It's good as energon. Promise. Then again, I don't really know. Don't have too many mates, y'know?"

"I don't know personally, but Percy would. He's…..never had a whole lot of friends, either. I hope that can change. That both you and him find someone to trust, even more than me."

There is a strange glittering in the old bot's eyes, in the way he looks down and how his optics droop. He hangs his shoulderplates, then straightens up and bids good-bye to Fizzy and I.  
>Is that what sadness looks like for Cybertronians?<p>

Poor guy.

Am I ever going to meet another bot without skeletons in the closet? Without a history of hurt? Without a mighty dark plot?  
>Because Ironfist can't be the only one.<p>

He can't be.

* * *

><p>Author's Notes (WARNING: Overload of information up ahead):<p>

-Verity lives in the 22nd century, the same time _Transformers: Animated_ is set in. For me, I think all nations on Earth have successfully converted to the Metric system near the end of the 21st century. Hence why she refers to measurements in her own mind as 'centimeters' and 'kilometers', instead of 'inches' or 'miles'.  
>She hasn't yet grasped terms for Cybertronian units of length or time, though she gets equivalents pretty well.<p>

-I estimate that, at the time of the events in this chapter, that Verity has been on Cybertron for about two years. She probably arrived a little after Optimus and his own team returned to Cybertron. How exactly she got there and what she was originally doing may come up, either in another chapter, or I may write a spin-off story that ties into _Penumbra_, but isn't necessarily relevant to the Percy/Moonie plot. I'd like to hear some thoughts on this.

Mostly on how I'm writing Verity. I'm worried that she's becoming like Miko Nakadai (who I do like, but a lot of fans don't), or worse, becoming a Mary Sue. Granted, she's only been in two chapters so far, but I want to stay as truthful to her _Last Stand of the Wreckers_ personality as possible, while making her a necessary part of my story.

-The language Chromia Magnus and Ironfist spoke to each other with is an invention of mine. Odess'lum, the native language of Odessyx, a robotic unclaimed/neutral world in the Autobot Commonwealth of the Galaxy, is a language that is spoken by maybe 20% of Autobots alive.  
>(Autobot Commonwealth is the actual name of Autobot territories I got from the Allspark Almanac II. I got one for myself on my birthday. :)<p>

Odess'lum used to be spoken by all Cybertronians, back then Cybertron was a slave planet to Quintessons. Since Quintessons didn't learn languages phonetically, like Cybertronians, the slaves would use the language to communicate to each other when they didn't want their masters to overhear.

After Beta Magnus liberated Cybertron from the Quintessons, use of the language began to dwindle, and is now spoken by bots who either learned from their creators before the Great War of the Factions, or taught themselves via recordings and rare datafiles.

The 'Lum' part of the language's name came from one of my teachers in middle school, who was Mr. Lum. He was my social studies and history teacher, but also from China and was one of my good friends back then.

-Some folks will wonder how does Verity survive on an alien planet of giant bots that don't require oxygen. This was also a question pondered when the _Transformers: Animated_ episode 'This Is Why I Hate Machines' aired, when Fanzone ended up on Cybertron.

The bots don't need the oxygen, but their fires do. Jets, ships, even smelting fires in factories all require oxygen to ignite the fuel and function. I conclude that, though there isn't as much oxygen on Cybertron as there is on Earth, the gravity keeping the bots from floating into space is the same thing keeping a fresh supply of oxygen on the robotic planet.

And, as of this writing, Verity is the only organic on Cybertron. She doesn't need as much fresh air as, say, the country of Mexico.

-And the Wreckers! Aw, yiss. We get a glimpse of Ironfist's fanboying about these BAMF's, and, rest assured, they will be a part of the story.  
>Soon. Eventually. You'll like it when I finish this thing.<p>

If ever.

Sigh.

Reviews, suggestions, complaints. I appreciate all of it, but not as much as I appreciate all who follow this story.

That means you. :)

~Ylysha


	11. Murumurs of the Mind

*tumbles in*  
><strong><br>**Oh, thank goodness, you're all still reading my story. :)

I can't say much at this point, because I've got things to do, but Internet at home is STILL not fixed. Please, Mom. I'm not the only one. I've been going to the Library for three weeks now for free Wi-Fi. It's amazing I haven't been kicked out yet.

Oh, I nearly forgot-

WARNING: Intimate and gratuitous mentions of robo-sexual activities scene up ahead in the Preamble. This is your only warning. If you are underage, PLEASE, turn around or scroll down to the chapter. But if you ARE of age, please enjoy. I think.

Hopefully, by now, you are all acquainted with the Cybertronian terminology I use in this fic. If not….

Body Parts (all approximate, and the anatomical chart I use for my stories):

Hands = Servos  
>Arms = Support Servos<br>Legs = Stabilizing Servos  
>Tongue = Glossa<br>Teeth = Denta  
>Feet = Landing Pads<br>Shoulders and Knees = Shoulderplates and kneeplates, respectively  
>Eyes = Optics<br>Fingers = Digits  
>Hips = Pistons<br>Lips = Vocal Labi  
>Mouth = Vocal Receptor<br>Ears = Audio Receptor  
>Neck = Chassis Pillar<br>Torso/Chest = Chassis  
>Body = FrameShell  
>Skin = Protoplasm<br>Brain = Processor  
>Sections of brain = Lobes<p>

Units of Time (all approximate, and the chronological chart I use for my stories):

Any time less than a second = Microklik  
>Second = Nanoklik<br>Minute = Klik  
>8.3 Minutes = Breem<br>Hour = Cycle  
>6 Hours = Joor<br>Day (both day and night) = Solar Cycle  
>Week = Decacycle<br>Month = Orbital Cycle  
>6 MonthsHalf a Stellar Cycle = Orn  
>Year = Stellar Cycle<br>83 Years = Vorn  
>Approx. 100 years = Megacycle<p>

Cybertronian Units of Length (all approximate, and the metrical chart I use for my stories)

**Klep** – 1 Decimeter (0.10 m)  
><strong>Kil<strong> – 1 Fathom (6 ft.)**  
>Mechanometer<strong> – 1 Meter (m)  
><strong>Megamile<strong> – 1 Decameter (10 m)**  
>Kix<strong> – 1 Hectometer (100 m)  
><strong>Microquad<strong> – 2 ½ Hectometers (250 m)  
><strong>Hic<strong> – 1 Kilometer (1,000 m, or 4 microquads)  
><strong>Vun<strong> – 1 knot (6086 ft.)  
><strong>Solar Rek<strong> – 1 League (3 knots)

Hope this helps.

From now on, all Author's Notes, if any, will be at the bottom, after the chapter.  
><strong><br>**DISCLAIMER = _Transformers: Animated _belongs to Hasbro. Everything else: MINE.

* * *

><p><em>"Fascinating."<em>

_The pleasured haze in my vision has barely cleared when I hear him whisper that particular word, pulling his digits out of my sopping wet valve with a loud squelch._

_"Ahhh…..! Percy!"_

_He inspects his pointer and middle digit. "It appears I have overstimulated you. A combination of too much friction of my digits in your valve, as well as heat increase of 150.67% overall, has caused a minor leakage of….some sort of lubricant….from your valve. I will have this cleaned up promptly-"_

_"-with your glossa."_

_I ought to be appalled, but, much as I try to be, I simply cannot. I want him to…clean me up with his glossa. To feel him lapping at me down there, my thighs gently, or maybe not so gently, holding his head in place, to feel his servos cupping my aft._

_My train of thought crashes when I feel his glossa lightly lick at the area where my thigh and valve are joined._

_"Are you certain of this?"_

_I wrap one stabilizing servo around his head. "I'm certain. Why are you so hesitant? Put your vocal receptor to better use, scientist…."_

_With a rather devious glint in one optic, his faceplates suddenly disappear between my thighs and I feel a very unscientific thrash of a glossa in my valve._

_"Ahh…."_

_My spinal unit arches off the berth, and I lift my support servos above my head. The feel of myself clamping down on the pliable metal sends a jolt of heat from down there to my faceplates._

_Heat travels everywhere in my shell, and before long, I'm thrashing on my berth, my head rocking side to side. Suddenly, there's a servo pinning me down, and….something else….entering my valve even as he's lapping away._

_"I did a little reading, and I found a method of stimulation that will actually cause an overload without the need for penetration", he murmurs, his voice unusually low and deep._  
><em>I look down far enough to see him plunge his middle and fourth digit into my valve, keeping the other digits straightened and rubbing against the surrounding areas. He sharply grinds upward again and again, dragging his glossa against my hyper-sensitive node.<em>

_"You read about this somewhere?", I manage to gasp out. His other servo keeps me flat on the berth, all the while stroking my midsection._

_As flat as it can, considering the gyrating of my pistons makes it hard. I can't help it._

_"Percy, I can't-"_

_Where did he even start looking? What else does he have in store for me?_

_"I think-I think-"_

_I can't think straight, the pleasure clouding my processor again. One of my servos grasps the back of his head._

_"-I feel it coming-ah, ah, AHHH!"_

_Every wire feels like hot energon is running through-actually, it is hot energon, pulsing down into my valve._

_"Oh, Primus, that was a big one, oh, oh, oh-"_

_Before long, I feel myself getting wetter and wetter._

_"-ahhhh, ahh, mnnfffff, hmmm…"_

_His digits jerking up with ease, my lubricant spilling out onto my thighs and all over his faceplates._

_"…..mmmaaaAAAAAHHH!"_

_Since his servo gently but firmly keeps on the berth, my squirming pistons twist once more, then release a gush of lubricant so large, it coats his entire servo and vocal receptor in my wetness._  
><em>The hot energon in my valve rushes back throughout my body through the appropriate wires, and I feel myself, almost as light as a dust particle, floating back from the top of my climax.<em>  
><em>Between my thighs remains a pleasurable moistness as I shake from the aftershock of my overload. And on my chassis lies my best friend-<em>

_-no. More. More than that._

_My lover. My significant other._

_"I….I was afraid I wouldn't be good at this", he murmurs, his accented voice sounding vulnerable. Not relaxed, but not scared either. Not really._

_"Being a lover, I mean. And maybe, one solar cycle, a sparkmate. Didn't….consider it would be an option for me."_

_"It's an option for all."_

_There is no verbal response, but he slides further up my still-shivering body as he presses a kiss to my vocal labi. A strand of lubricant bridges our vocal receptors._

_"Oh. Oh, that's embarrassing…"_

_"…..Embarassing? Who are you trying to impress? Believe me, there is no one else here, and I…"_

_"….It's lubricant, but it's so much. I think we made a mess on your berth, of all places. I will clean this up-"_

_"-You are my lover, not my maintenance bot", he tells me sternly, before softening and taking one of my servos to kiss._  
><em>"Now hush, never mind the 'mess', and relax."<em>

_"You're so thoughtful."_

_His voice is humble, but I catch his little smile in the dim light of his recharge quarters._  
><em>"I try. Thank you for believing so anyway, love."<em>

_My scientist presses one more kiss to my chinplate before he embraces me._

_"Would you like to be on top, or should I?"_

_"I'm not picky."_

_"Still, darling-"_

_Boom._

_"What was that?"_

BOOM.

_"I…I don't know, Moonracer, I-"_

BOOM SCRATCH EEEEEKKKKKK

_I shut my optics._

EEEEEEEKKKKK BOOM

"Perceptor!"

The first thing I see is the bright lights of my own recharge quarters flickering.

_My _recharge quarters.

Wha-how?

I spring up from _my_ berth. I see _my _sniper rifle right next to me. And _my_ team's ship is under attack.  
>My quarters are messier than usual, most likely a result of the ship being hit left and right.<p>

"Moonie!"  
>Lancer sprints into my recharge quarters, and I tumble to the floor, trying to look like I haven't been in recharge this whole time.<p>

"Oh, okay, you're alright. 'Mia just wanted to see that you were alright. She got really worried when you didn't respond to her comm. We just came out of a big battle with a Rock Lord. Only one. No serious damage to the Quintessa, thank Primus. I'll go and tell Fearless Leader you're fine."

She merrily leaves, my door closing behind her, and I pick myself off the floor and crawl back into my berth.

My sadly empty berth.  
>I curl myself in it. And I find, with some remorse and disgust, that my valve is soaked behind my interface panel, and my frame is warmer than usual.<p>

All that from something that was just a dream.

Just a dream.

Just a beautiful dream. 

**Murmurs of the Mind**

or

_ A story of a ship and a soldier, scientists at work, a happy enthusiast, a watchful old engineer, unfamiliar places, comrades lost, an invasion of privacy, pushing her away, and the next move of the enemy._

  
><em><strong>{Ten solar cycles after the commencement of Chromia Magnus}<br>**__  
><em>[Outskirts of Iacon, Spacebridge to Earth, one microquad from Kaon]  
><em><br>_

Ironfist will freak out when he finds out about this.

As if out of a war holograph, there is Zeta Supreme, one of the Supremes I had worked on more than a thousand stellar cycles. From my own two unlucky servos, I helped to craft this giant.

Well, half of it.  
>The bow of the ship, where Zeta Supreme's head would be tucked into, is intact, but parts of the left side, as well as most of the rear half of the ship, are gone.<br>Zeta Supreme, or, the_ Xantium_ (as it had been codenamed) has landed on the outskirts of Iacon, the barren mechanometers of abandoned factories and buildings between Iacon and the faraway Kaon.

Correction: it has crashed there.

The Xantium is also the ship of the Wreckers, the Autobot combat group that Ironfist idolizes, and if my apprentice were to be here now, I could only imagine the fritzing that would follow.

I was out with Bulkhead, a spacebridge specialist, working on an active spacebridge and attempting to find if there were any glitches with it, when a bright flash of light hit us both.  
>There was a push, and the green mech and I were propelled backwards as the Supreme came through, dived into the ground, and careened for a hic before skidding to a stop.<p>

"Ey, Bulkhead. Pop a signal flare and contact Chromia Magnus, please."  
>Not waiting to see if he's followed my request, I transform and drive to the wreckage. By the time I get there, the main hatch has opened, smoke pouring out.<br>I transform back into bot mode and grab a pistol from my subspace, ready for anything to pop out.

Wouldn't Ironfist want to be as close to this legendary ship as I am.

Any more thoughts of mine are derailed by the one that stumbles out of the Supreme. I find myself lowering my weapon and stepping closer.

"Impactor Major?"

A cough of dry vocal tubing is all that comes out of his vocal receptor, but the smoke clears and I see him clearly. I stow away my pistol as quickly as I can.

The leader of the first Wreckers team stumbles out of the entrance of Zeta Supreme, mumbling as if overcharged on high-grade.  
>"Carmina Aequitas. The Visor League. New Wreckers."<p>

And then he falls into stasis, crumpling to the ground.

A solar cycle, and the Major has been rushed to Beta Magnus Hospital in Iacon, Zeta Supreme transported to the Guild Scientius for inspection and repairs. I am working in one of the engine turbines of the ship's remnants, trying to find what caused it to crash instead of landing safely.

"Wheeljack, that is not safe. In the event of possible ignition of the turbine, or-"

"-Perceptor, Perceptor, Perceptor, do not worry about me, a'right? This here thing crash-landed. The fuel lines are shot. There's no bot inside to activate the _Xantium_ and set my aft on fire. Now…..", I respond, leaping down from the giant tube of the turbine, "…..we have ta see the insides. There was smoke coming out when Impactor Major exited. Let's find out where it came from."

"Also how Zeta Supreme came to be in this condition", the microscope replies with a slow nod.

It's been a good while since Perceptor's gotten his voice back. Things feel normal and well.

Almost. I have to remind myself it's still him, what with having the voice synthesizer for megacycles.

Well, he's as him as he could be with vorns worth of missing memories.

"Wheeljack?"

"Wha-?"

"Are you listening to me?"

"Sorry. You were sayin'?"

"I asked whether we should bring your apprentice or my assistant to the Commons, to help us with this."

Ironfist is an engineer. And Moonracer is a 1st class repair bot. Both could be of great help to us.

But I'm a little hesitant to call either of them. Ironfist could be distracted from his job if I bring him to inspect the legendary _Xantium_. Moonracer, though on good terms now with Percy, could have flashbacks just from being in this place.  
>The last time the little speedster set landing pad in the Guild's Commons, the walls were a dark red. The Supremes were being built. And the last time she had worked with my partner was…..<p>

I summon both of them anyway, and in about a breem, I hear the dainty steps of Chromia's apprentice nearly overcome by the flurry of running from my own apprentice.

"NO. FRAGGING. WAY."

"Calm down, Fizzy. Calm down."

"Verity, do you even KNOW what this is?!"

"Do I want to fucking know if you're yelling in my tiny organic audio receptor?!"

"Pipe down, you two", Moonracer tells them, dropping her servo on Ironfist's shoulderplate. To me, in an almost-murmur, she asks, "Wheeljack, is….is this what we think it is?"

"Yep, Moonie. And Fizzy. This here is Zeta Supreme, a.k.a. the _Xantium_."

My apprentice makes a soft but high-pitched sound behind his mask, scurrying closer to the hatch of the ship.

"What's left of it, anyway."

He is close enough to me that I see the only organic in the place rolls her tiny optics.  
>"Ever since I woke up from my recharge, about a joor ago, he's been going on and on about some bot called Impactor Major. The bot-in-charge of this <em>Xantium<em>. Where's he now?"

"The Beta Magnus Hospital. And, um, you wanna go on my shoulderplate or what? Because Ironfist is, well, gonna be unstable."

"My life is unstable. I'll be fine."

And all the while my apprentice admires everything on the wreckage with glee, from the purple-and-gold painted, titanium plating to the triple-barreled sub-machine cannons.

"Can we go inside?!"

I look over at Perceptor for a second 'affirmative', who is about to ask Moonracer something, but he catches me and gives a slight nod.

"Sure, Ironfist. Keep your lights on, though."

"Thanks so much, Wheeljack! Oh, Verity, wait until we get a look inside…."

I hear him running inside with excitement, but my attention quickly returns to my partner and his assistant, who are inspecting the burnt edges of one of the holes of the ship. I disappear back to my turbine, but I can't help but keep an optic on the two.

"When Shockwave was Longarm Prime, his last notes regarding Zeta Supreme specifically stated that the Decepticon Heavy Brigade had hunted down and destroyed it, with only one surviving Decepticon-"

"-Yet here it is. Perhaps Impactor Major tricked them somehow. After all, Shockwave wasn't there. Any Decepticon could've reported to him; maybe Impactor Major found friends to repair it after his attackers flew off. We'll just have to wait until-"

Moonracer's speech processes are cut off by her tripping over something and falling.

Right into Perceptor's support servos.

"Oof! Oh! I'm so sorry, Perceptor! I'm not usually this clumsy; I just think I overlooked something which is also not usual of me. I think I scuffed your finish a little-!"

"-Shhh." The indirect order for her to hush is gentle, and he helps her to stand up as straight as she can. "It isn't your fault. Rather, the cause of your fall is that splintered wire impaled into your stabilizing servo, approximately two scints above your ankle joint."

"Wha-oh! How…how did I not feel that?"

"I presume it is because of your battle experience. You are accustomed to acute injuries such as sprained ankle joints and third-degree wounds, so your body didn't register a significant amount of pain to alert you."

"Still, I'm surprised I didn't feel it. And-oh, it's leaking now. I'll clean that up later, Perceptor, after I'm done fixing up my wound."

"At least allow me to accompany you to the nearest first aid station."

"Oh, don't worry, I know where it is here."

"No, I mean, you may lean upon me for support until we get there. I lack suitable crutches, and I do not see a need to carry you."

_You may lean upon me for support._ There is too much meaning behind such casual words, and she feels it, too.

The pale green femme gazes at him for a klik before she bends down, yanks the wire out, and straightens up. One of her support servos slides across his shoulderplates, and one servo of his holds her in place, his other servo hovers above her pelvic joints, just a scint from her piston.

"Moonracer, may I hold your piston to support you?" At her nod, he carefully grips her, and she limps her way to the first aid station near the bottom of the stairs, his servos never leaving her. I can't but smile to myself.

Chromia would freak if she saw this.

I watch them with zeroed-in optics, quiet as Percy opens the cabinet. He faces Moonie and stands up straight and she uses him for support. She stands the whole time, cleaning then binding her wound with some steelbelt bindings. Her left servo never leaves him, as she uses her denta to open and close things.  
>And Percy is fixated on her servo against his chassis the entire time. There is not a tiny bit of discomfort or irritation in his faceplates, which is rare. Just curiosity.<p>

I zero in closer.

Percy suddenly asks Moonie something, though I can't decipher because I'm too far away to hear. But she is caught off-guard, and she responds, her right servo brushing the area where her faceplates and helm meet, above her optics.

I zero in closer.

He bows his head like a nod, touching the side of his yellow visor. Her optics widen and she drops whatever she's holding.

"You are such a creep."

Without even a glance to the source of the voice, I reply, "At least I don't make my partner carry me so I can eavesdrop on two young bots."

I hear a snort coming from the little femme next to my landing pads. "I didn't make him. He did offer. And am I the one watching them touch each other like college students?"

Oh, right, the touching.  
>It's not as much as it was back then, where Percy was comfortable enough to lay his head in Moonie's lap. Or when she was comfortable enough to hug him when he was frustrated about something. Or when both of them were comfortable to sit on a table with their kneepads touching and just…..talk.<p>

It's not the same, but…it feels almost if nothing has changed.

Almost.

"Touch each other? Like lovers? Don't be crazy. They work in close quarters and have begun growing a bond, like best friends. Almost. And aren'cha supposed ta be with my apprentice, listening ta him ramble about the Wreckers?"

"You know something, Wheeljack. I can't listen to Fizzy talk about them, much less take them serious, if there aren't any ladies. I fucking can't."  
>Verity doesn't say this in an upset way; more like an incredulous, this-is-ridiculous-I'm-throwing-my-servos-up way.<br>"I mean, from what I've learned, there are more mechs than femmes on this planet, but there had to be ONE fucking female on the Wreckers. One."

"There was one."  
>A surprised glance from the Earth femme.<p>

"I guess Ironfist never told ya. And he wouldn't have told ya because he don't know. Few bots do. There was a female, but she kept her Wrecker status a secret for a whole bunch of reasons."

There is a heaviness in my spark as I murmur, "Her designation was Override Prime. She was the only femme Prime in her time, and the only Prime to pilot a Supreme. Kappa Supreme, codenamed Chromia Ten, was her Supreme, lost at the servos of Blitzwing. She went down with her ship."

My servos clench.  
>"She wanted to lay low about her Wrecker status because she felt that, if bots knew about it, they would assume she used that experience to become a Prime. She was a role model for a lot of younger femmes, and she felt she'd place an impossible burden of having to be a Wrecker, or being a special, or something like that, on those that looked up to her.<br>She wanted it to be clear that anybot could be a nobot, and if they worked hard enough, did what was right, and learned to care about the disadvantaged, they could be somebot."

I almost don't hear the whispered response. "That's bullshit."

"I don't have to understand English, or whatever you humans call it, to understand what you just said. If you really think so lowly of Override's beliefs, why do you stick so closely with my apprentice? He believes the same, to quote you, 'bullshit'."

"…..I don't know. Honestly, he's the first friend I've had in a long, long time. He reminds me of Hunter. Hunter was a human mech, and he was my best friend."

"And what became of him?"

I presumed the answer, but it still hurts to hear.  
>"What became of Override Prime. Hunter and I, we were inseparable. We even lived in a library together.<br>Until he died, about two stellar cycles ago. A few days later, I caught a train to Detroit, where the Spacebridge on Earth is located. Came here, hoping that I could meet some aliens before life caught up to me."

"Before life caught up to ya? Were ya an escaped convict? Did'ya steal something important from ya government? Did'ya….offline another human?"

"No, though society treats me like a murderer sometimes. I lost my parents when I was little. I grew up homeless, jobless, and anything I learned, I certainly didn't learn from any school or university. I stole so I could survive. I ran away from any family that took me in. I lost every friend I ever had.  
>I came to Cybertron, because I wanted to see an alien up close and personal before my life went out like a light. I believe there was life out in space. Hunter and I both did. We talked about that, too.<br>I honestly expected to offline here. I expected life to come get me and end my existence."

She looks up at me with a sigh and a resigned expression. "The aliens got to me first."

"Mmm. Good thing a tall, bulky, handsome, younger, smarter alien with optic shields on his head got to ya before ya went squish."

One end of her tiny vocal receptor quirks up. "Good thing indeed. Even though he reminds of Hunter sometimes. Only sometimes. But life is life, and sometimes it sucks. And I figure it's good to have a friend in an unfamiliar place."

I bend down and lay my servo flat. I intend for her to crawl onto it, but she looks at it warily.

"Don't ya worry, ya won't explode", I tell her, my accent kicking it like it does when I'm not having serious moments.  
>Verity looks at it a few nanokliks more before stepping onto my servo. I carry her up and hold her up, so she can see my partner and the pale green femme coming back to their work, Moonracer's wound bound up nicely.<p>

"A friend in an unfamiliar place is good to have. But in my experience, and this handsome fragger…" and here I plant my servo on my chassis, "…is older than he looks…..in my experience, an unfamiliar place is not always a tactile place, one that can be touched and seen. Sometimes it's an unfamiliar place is a place in life, a place in time."

I point in the direction of Perceptor and Moonracer.  
>"My partner there is in a place in his life where things he thought made sense sometimes don't. And where he's meeting strange bots who know him, even though he don't remember them.<br>And…..he's now trying to fill in the spaces in his mind. He's in an unfamiliar place right now. And I'm glad he's finding friends that he needs."

"So what'll happen when he loses those friends? They can't be with him forever, regardless how long you guys live in comparison to humans."

I know what would happen if he were to lose the few friends he has. I have experienced it firstservo. If he were to lose everyone he loved, I can imagine only one outcome. I rack my processor for an answer, an honest one.

"He will be with them one solar cycle, though I pray that solar cycle isn't for a long, long time. Many of us believe in a place called the Allspark. When any bot, regardless of faction, offlines, they go ta the Allspark if they've lived a life that is right by Primus, the creator of Cybertronians-"

"-Ironfist told me all this. He says that if I am a good, hardworking ally to the Autobots, I may be the first human to go the Allspark.  
>But as a human, we have a different sort of Allspark. We fleshies have many names for it, but they all mean one thing: Heaven.<br>Heaven is where good people go, those that have done right things despite the cruel world we live in. I think Hunter found his way there, and….that thought comforts me. A little."

For the first time this solar cycle, she looks up and holds my gaze.  
>"I know I'm not headed to Heaven or to the Allspark or wherever, but I'd like to think that Perceptor deserves that. To be surrounded by only good bots, and not by bots that ignore him or take advantage of him or misunderstand him. Everyone here deserves that.<br>Except for Skyfall. You need to slap the Pit out of that bot. You or someone else, because Ironfist doesn't seem to wanna do it."

My entire altered frame sighs.  
>"I cannot say you're wrong, though there's still much to speak about. Speaking of Ironfist…..let's go look for our favorite Wrecker fanatic." Verity smiles and nods, and whistles something as we venture deeper into the <em>Xantium<em>.

"Can't imagine how crazy he's gettin' over the Autobot's newest discovery."

Turns out, he isn't the only one.

Just three solar cycles after Zeta Prime crashed on Cybertron, the Guild Scientius has a taste of the Pit.

They are everywhere.  
>When the workers of the Guild saw them outside, everyone braced themselves with a drink of medium-grade. Except for Verity, who tipped back a sip of some Earth high-grade called 'whiskey', and cursed about 'damn paparazzi'. Whatever that was.<br>On Cybertron, we older ones had a designation for these sparkeaters: gossip groupies. And none of us expect the Pit that stretches on for the cycle after.

Because the moment everyone stepped out and the doors closed behind us, they jump on us.

"Hi, miss, we know you're a busy femme, but we can offer you credits in exchange for-"

"Um, I already do have a stable job, and I don't-"

"Hello there. Would you happen to know anything about-?"

"No, I have nothing to say on the matter….."

"Hey, look, it's Skyfall! Skyfall, if we can have a few kliks of your time….."

"Of course! If it's regarding the recent crash landing in Iacon-"

"It's an organic! Keep the microphone away from it and try to get it in front of that mech! The one with the mask-"

"My designation is Ironfist! And my friend here-"

"Ack! Get away! Give it space!"

"-Fear me, motherfuckers!"

"Perceptor, sir-!"

"The answer is no!"

"Hey, please, Wheeljack! Over here, Wheeljack! Can we ask you and Perceptor-?"

"We can answer if ya can step back a klep or two-!"

They harass Moonracer, attempting to bribe her for details.

They surround Mainframe, trying to corner him into revealing any info on his computer alt-mode.

They crowd around Skyfall, soaking up every little thing he knows about Zeta Supreme.

There is a very thin circle of space around Ironfist and Verity, and only because the Ambassador from Earth insists on scaring and yelling at the easily frightened bots to 'get the frag out of his faceplates'.  
>Those scavengers somehow find the ability to poke cameras and microphones at my unsuspecting apprentice.<p>

And the flashing. Primus, how I hate flashing cameras.

I am simply trying to hold off bots, physically and vocally. My concentration goes to trying not to call Chromia Magnus just to get Autotroopers to control the gossip groupies.

Perceptor, being head of the Ministry of Science, stands on a pulpit I hurriedly assemble and attempts to grab the attention of the mass of gossip groupies.  
>Problem: he isn't a yeller by nature. Even with the repairs to his vocal tubing, and the ability to alter the volume of his voice, he has no success calming anybot enough to answer questions.<p>

The three lone gunshots that ring in the atmosphere silence everyone.

In front of the head of the Ministry is his assistant with a simple pistol in her left servo. Where did she even get that?  
>It points upwards at a 60-degree angle, and the barrel end glows from the use of rounds. I am the only one standing in a mass of bots that duck and cover their heads.<br>Moonracer's faceplates switch from serious to smiles in the blink of an optic, and she innocently addresses the audience.

"Greetings, everyone. Now that I have your attention, I would like to direct you to Perceptor, Head of the Ministry of Science and the spokesbot for the Guild Scientius. He will open for questions if he chooses, but if not, be satisfied with any information he releases. If you can't comply with these conditions, kindly leave, or I will not be so kind in making you leave."

For maybe half a breem, there is only silence. Then Percy, turning down all questions, has only this to say:

"The Ministry of Science asks that, at this time, all C.E.D's and newsreporters refrain from asking us information regarding the vessel that crashed between Iacon and Kaon. We have very little information at the moment, and we will release a public statement with further details in a decacycle, at the latest. We also ask that news centers do not harass Impactor Major, the only bot from the vessel, while he is in recovery. That is all."

The cameras pop, and some bots continue to pester us for answers, but the workers of the Guild Scientius hurry inside and shut our doors.

A decacycle. The gossip groupies will lurk around us until then. It wasn't as bad as the orbital cycles leading up to the war.  
>That was the Pit. Percy and I were cornered and forced to stay in the Guild an entire stellar cycle, because of the bots wanting to know how we would stop a war that inevitably came.<p>

But with mostly everyone else retreating to their corner of our sanctuary, Perceptor still hurriedly punches the code to barricade the doors and not allow anybot in.

"Perceptor, I don't think that is necessary", Mooracer murmurs. "Mechanically barricading the doors of the Guild. They're all gone, and most are smart to stay away."

He turns to look at her, and before he even opens his vocal receptor, I sense something is wrong.

"Do you know what was unnecessary, Miss Moonracer? The use of gunshots to calm the crowd."

He's tacking the Miss prefix to her name. And the tone of his voice. Something is wrong.

"Well, I'm sorry about that. Did I scare you? I was only trying to help-"

"-And you caused everyone there to panic. The Ministry of Science is attempting to address the concerns and questions of the public, and not cause bots to be afraid of us. We make weapons but we do not use them, not especially to placate a frenzied crowd. If I needed that sort of order, I would have called in Autotroopers, or utilized Wheeljack's strength-"

"-Well, I know it's not much, but I am sorry-"

"-I am head of the Ministry of Science, and by extension a member of the Autobot High Council. I can only imagine the reaction of the other Councilbots if they knew about the use of a weapon by my assistant for violent means-"

"-Do you have any idea what those newsreporters, those bots, could've done had I not used my gun? They could've gotten violent. Several of them pulled my support servos. A lot of them went after Wheeljack, trying to yank the multipacks on his pistons. And I don't want to start about that pair of mechs that tried to 'save' Ironfist from Verity-"

A loud bleeping interrupts any more of their arguing. It's from Moonracer, whose servo flies up to her left audio receptor and presses something there.

"Yes? Oh, hey, 'Star. What is it?" A pause, and the irritation in her faceplates gives way to shock. "Oh. Oh, Primus, alright. Alright, I'll be there ASAP. Moonracer out."

A rushed apology to Percy slips from her, then she tells him and I, "There are Decepticons nearing Kaon, headed in the direction of Kaon Prison. They've been spotted a klik ago, and Chromia…Magnus…needs me. I'm sorry, but I'll have to hold off working here for now."

"Take the underground tunnels to Fortress Maximus. You know how to get there, right?"

"Yes, Wheeljack."

"Be safe, you understand? Fizzy and Verity will miss you, and I need someone that won't cause stuff to explode. Be safe, Moonie." I hold out one support servo for a hug, and she comes in with both support servos around my doorwings. I pat her pale green doorwings for a nanoklik before letting her go.

"Bye, Perceptor, sir." Oh, no. The 'sir'. Just three solar cycles ago, he was gripping her piston and walking her over to take care of a minor wound from a wire. But now…she doesn't even look at him.

He responds with a cool and indifferent, "Goodbye, Moonracer", but the glance he sneaks at her betrays emotion.

The sharpshooter makes her leave, and my partner attempts to make his leave to his quarters, but I intercept him.

"What the Pit was that?"

"What was what, Wheeljack?"

"The way you acted towards your own assistant, Per-cep-tor. You just blew up at her, figuratively, over something so petty. What gives? You've never acted like this."

I'm lying. I'm already lying. Primus help me. I expect him to be angry at me.

I do not expect his usual cool, emotionless façade to deflate into remorse.

"I regret my actions and my behavior towards her. But, if I may speak frankly, I…..was getting attached to her. I mean, I've allowed myself to be comfortable with a bot that physically struck me within the first breem of our first meeting.

I have allowed her full access to the Guild, I have allowed her to work personally with me, I have allowed her physical contact with me. To the point that she laid my head in her lap, and I had said nothing about it.  
>She knows about my….conditions, knows about the Guild Scientius' inner workings; she knows more about Zeta Supreme and Impactor Major than Chromia Magnus, her own mentor.<p>

Do you not remember what had happened to the last bot that I gave that amount of trust to? A bot that wasn't you, or any other bot I knew before the Great War of the Factions?  
>These are dangerous times, Wheeljack.<br>She is a soldier foremost, and I….need to know who and what I can hold on to, and let go. No unnecessary attachments."

For a full klik, there is only silence.

I cannot believe what I'm hearing, and yet, I am not surprised. My spark is heavy, to know the widespread effect Longarm Prime's betrayal had. What the last few megacycles have done to his already fragile trust. To everything, really.

"Don't do this, Perceptor. You don't know her very well….not yet, anyway. But I do, and I can tell you that she can be trusted. She is good. More worthy of your trust and friendship than ten loyal Autobots. Don't keep pushing bots away. I am not your only friend in this life. You-"

This time, we are interrupted by incoming communications from Alpha Trion himself.

"Greetings, Perceptor and Wheeljack. I regret to inform you both that you must place the Guild Scientius under lockdown, evacuate all scientists there, then come quickly to the Fortress Maximus. Take the underground tunnels, but be cautious. Chromia Magnus orders that both of you are needed here."

No time to lose.

The only ones in the Guild now are Ironfist and Verity. Mainframe and Skyfall are elsewhere, and I quickly inscribe a message for any Autobots that attempt to get inside by use of their codes. I hope they understand.

A lockdown of our facilities, then the three of transform into our altmodes, the human jumps in, and we quickly drive off.

"What is this place?"

"Underground tunnels beneath the surface of Cybertron. Only a few bots know about this maze. We're headed to Fortress Maximus and awaiting further orders from the Magnus, since we don't know if Kaon is the only place Decepticons are headed to", my apprentice tells the awestruck femme.

"I don't get it", she replies. "Do the 'Cons want Megatron? Their leader is being kept in Trypticon, right? How far from Kaon is Trypticon? And why would they want to go to a place there are no 'Con leaders? I think it may be a diversion. Distract and attract bots to one place, then another team raids Trypticon for their Lord."

"Not too loud, Verity", Percy reprimands her. "Wait until we touch bases with Chromia Magnus and her team."

The drive isn't too long, thank Primus; just a breem. The little femme leaps out and tries to find a place underneath the dark blue doors of a back entrance to the Fortress. We transform into our bot modes and walk over, the younger weaponsmith picking his friend off the ground.  
>There is an orb in the middle of the two panels of the door, like the main entrance of the Guild. The scanner is an optic scanner, and a quick sweep of the microscope's optics gives us access.<p>

Another two kliks, and we are faceplate-to-faceplate with Alpha Trion, near the Council Hall.

"Greetings to you, Wheeljack, Perceptor, Ironfist, and Verity." He greets each of us with a regal nod of his head, and we return the nods, even Verity, who tacks on a respectful salute from her standing position on her engineer's bright red shoulderplate.

"What are our orders, Alpha Trion, sir?"

A clattering distracts us, and in comes Firestar, Chromia's lieutenant. The white space around her Autobot insignia indicates that her leader isn't the only one who got a promotion. She isn't Elite Guard, probably by her choice, but holds the rank of Minor, so she fulfills the bare minimum of a Magnus' Second-in-Command.

"Greetings, all of you", she says, her deep static-like voice rushed and concerned. "My orders from Chromia Magnus are to ensure that all 'bots of influence' are kept under safelocks here in the Fortress, as well as important bots such as the two of you." She motions to me, Percy, and Alpha Trion.

Oh, right. During times like this, when Autobots are under attack, it was always procedure to place Perceptor and I, the 'brightest minds of the Autobots', in a safe house and keep us there, until we got the alright from militants that that we could come out and not be captured. Or something like that.  
>Only happened once, and during the Great War. When the war was right on Cybertronian ground.<p>

"We've moved Ultra Magnus to the storage areas two levels beneath us. Decepticons are least likely to suspect anyone hiding there, and even if they do, will not get to it.  
>We've gotten bots to fortify the entrances to the storage area and walls with duranium.<br>We added a second set of locks that are optic scanned; will only respond to Autobot optics. We've also coated the paint of the exterior with neurons and cloaked the place as best we could.  
>The job of the bots hiding it out with Ultra Magnus will be to protect him and themselves. There are weapons located in secret panels in the floor; the panels will open only if the storage area is infiltrated from the outside."<p>

"And what if the 'Cons scan the place, find nothing, and suspect that we're there? Or worse, they suspect because other places on the Fortress Maximus are easy to break into by comparison?"

Ironfist brings up a few good points. Firestar's answers put me at ease.

"Don't worry, we've thought of that. Most of the other places in the Fortress have strong locks, or are fortified with duranium. Chromia's office is protected by a scanner in case of infiltration. Insignia or optics, and of course, Autobots only."

For now.

Verity, in a rare show of politeness, raises her servo, and when Firestar points it out, she relays her earlier theories of a distraction-and-ambush attack by the 'Cons.

"I am to stay behind here, in case the Decepticons will try to invade Fortress Maximus. My teammates Greenlight and Lancer are headed to Kaon now to keep an optic out, and Chromia will join them shortly."

"And what of Moonracer?", Perceptor unexpectedly questions her. The flame-colored femme raises an optic ridge at this, as three other pairs of optics look in his direction.

"Outside the Fortress, hiding and scoping for unfriendlies. Why?"

"She is my assistant. Difficult to find another one with her level of intellect and expertise."

His statement is cold and he shrugs indifferently, but his servos clench stiffly at his sides.

"Right…", the promoted rescue bot croaks.  
>"I figure since we'll be a waiting a while, Sentinel Prime and a few other bots, including a squad of Autotroopers, have been sent to Beta Magnus Hospital…"<p>

She goes over a few more details, then we wait. What would've been an awkward silence is broken by the sound of my apprentice and his friend chatting about what's been happening; her questions and him explaining things.

Two breems pass.

Firestar looks up, presses a digit to her audio receptor, and listens. She takes her servo off. Then whirls around.

"Storage. Now. Look for 'storage' in a sign above the door in Autobot glyphs. And whatever you do, do not come out. There is a communication feed down where Ultra Magnus is.  
>No one down there can contact us, but you'll be able to hear every line of communication from all Autobots. So everybot down there will know what's going on, and whether it's safe or not to come out. That's how Chromia or I will give the 'all clear'."<p>

"Wait, what? What's going on?"

"The Decepticons have raided Kaon Prison. I don't know what more they intend to do, but an encrypted message was sent to Chromia from an unknown source, telling her that another team of Decepticons may be on their away to Fortress Maximus. Quickly, now." She pushes all of us to the elevator and forces everyone in, pushing a button, before bidding us good luck and locking up the entrance with plasma bars.

A creak of the elevator doors closing, and we are momentarily plunged into darkness as the five of us make our descent.  
>Then light pours in, and, as Alpha Trion knows this place better than anybot, we follow him as he rushes to the storage area Firestar Minor specified.<br>We come to what looks like a bland, unprepossessing door, and the Councilmech brings down his faceplates so his optics may be scanned.  
>It slides open, and we hear some fearful voices, followed by gasps of relief.<p>

I spot many familiar faceplates, including Councilfemme Botanica, First Aid, the former apprentice of Ratchet, and Cliffjumper. And Ultra Magnus, still in deep stasis but looking better.

"I'm so glad you all could make it!", the Councilfemme exclaims. "Somebot, please, close the door now."

I nod and go first to manually close it, but just as I do, several thoughts fly through my processor.

How did those Decepticons get to Cybertron?

How many are in Kaon? And probably headed to Fortress Maximus?

And if they're in Kaon, what could they possibly want? While Kaon was their city, all that's there now is the massive prison. It still holds some bots, but no important Decepticon generals, like Shockwave or Strika.

And then it hits me.

A solar cycle and two joors ago, Bulkhead and I had managed to completely fix the active Spacebridge between Iacon and Kaon. We deactivated it after we had repaired it.

I had forgotten that Decepticons also knew how to work Spacebridges. That's why we didn't get any warnings from the Moonbases.  
>Because they didn't ever enter Cybertron's atmosphere to get to Kaon.<p>

And the realization of why all this trouble completely forms in my processor.

During the last stages of the Great War, the 'Cons had planted land mines in a ring around Kaon Prison. They intended to use it both as a symbol of protest and something to give them advantage; they would detonate it after they freed everyone inside, and the Autobots would have no place to put prisoners nor would we discover anything they hid inside.

Doubtful that they hid anything. We won the war, and the detonation remote for the mines was destroyed and the mines deactivated.

They would be daring enough to try it again. And they had been using Zeta Supreme and the injured Impactor Major this whole time, using the excitement over that discovery to infiltrate Cybertron.  
>And if the anonymous report that a secret group of 'Cons are heading to Fortress Maximus is true, that makes things more bleak.<br>Because they know. They know our defense troops are stretched out everywhere, which means weak points everywhere.

I have to get out there. Get rid of one of our weak points and give the 'Bots the upper servo.

I walk up to Ultra Magnus.  
>"Things will be alright, Ultra Magnus, sir. Verity, make sure to keep an optic on him." The human femme, looking tired, simply nods.<p>

"Ironfist, keep everyone in here safe."

I approach Percy last and engulf him in a big hug. Too compressed to do more, he settles for patting my back.

"Wheeljack, this display of friendship is unexpected-"

"I know it is, Perce. You take care of yourself." I release him and head for the double-walled door.

"Wh-wh-where are you going, Wheeljack?", Ironfist murmurs. I can practically hear the _krizzt_ of pounding sparks in the chassis of everybot.

I shake my head.

"I'm so sorry."

Then I lock it in place and shut the door, giving it a good pull.

It's bolted shut. Good.

Yet I can't help placing a servo on the door one last time, imagining that, on the other side, there's at least another servo on the door as well. Pressing for my comfort, hoping that I'll change my processor before it's too late.

Then a shake of my head, and I'm making my way to the elevator.

In the brief darkness ascending, I relay what's happened in just one solar cycle. I remember everyone trapped in safety beneath my landing pads.

The last I saw of everyone there is the fear filling their faceplates. Their fear for my safety.

Especially in Perceptor's usually stoic expression.

I close my optics one more time.

_I'm so sorry, but I must do this._

* * *

><p>Author's Notes:<p>

_**CLIFFHANGER. HAHAHAHA. Find out what happens in the next installment of…..**_

….whoops, got a little carried away there. :D

First off, to anyone turned off by the intimacy and explicitness of this chapter's Preamble…..

…I warned you, fair and square. I changed my story to an M rating for this, so any complaints about how OOC it was, or how Percy wouldn't ever think that way about Moonie, or anything along those lines…shove it up your tailpipes.

And now for my lovelies….

I hope you all like this one.

A few notes about other things Cybertronian in this chapter:

-Override Prime is a character in _Transformers: Animated_, but doesn't appear in the cartoon. I believe she appears in the Allspark Almanac II. Maybe I'll write a side story as to why she didn't want to be recognized as a Wrecker in public. Let me know if you want me to write it.

-Chromia X, which in Latin, translates to Chromia Ten, is the codename of Kappa Supreme, the only female Supreme who was bonded to Override Prime. A personal headcannon of mine is that the name Chromia is kind of like the name Mary, a common name for females with many variations. It wasn't uncommon to name ships after females.

-Verity is 21 in this story at this point in time. She's of age to drink. Something tells me she's been downing a few shots before 21, though….

-Ah, the gossip groupies. The paparazzi of Cybertron; bots who will do whatever it takes to get the facts they want. It's a title I think the bots of Wheeljack's generation made up, as a codename for these scavengers so they wouldn't be under fire, yet could openly criticize these guys.

-C.E.D, or Current Event Datafiles, like magazines or newspapers. There was a newspaper in the Allspark Almanac II, but I doubt they'd call it a newspaper…

Oh! Let me go over character quirks really quickly….

-Wheeljack speaks with a Jersey accent, like his G1 counterpart. I imagine him being voiced by Kevin Michael Richardson, but with a higher-toned voice than the deep baritone this beloved voice actor is famous for.  
>I also imagine that, in most situations, especially funny or light situations, his accent is heaviest, but the more serious he is about something, the more his accent disappears. Also, how a person thinks and tells a story is very different from how they talk in real life.<p>

-Ironfist (at least G1 Ironfist) is said to sound like he's from Nebulous, a planet where everyone there seems to speak with an accent from Down Under. His entire G1 page is covered with Aussie references and pokes, but Animated Ironfist, in my mind, is Kiwi. That's right, from New Zealand! They sound like Aussies, but prettier. Just trust me on this.  
>If I had to choose his voice actor, I'd choose Mike Ginn, a New Zealand actor who now lives in LA. He's got the accent and the acting chops to pull off stuff like this. :)<p>

-Perceptor, if I had control of Transformers: Animated, will be voiced by Paul Eiding. But sound younger, a little deeper. Maybe heavier. Or at least sexier. Just to see how the fangirls react.

-Verity may have an accent, considering she's from the East Coast of mainland USA. Or something. Either way, she swears a lot. Learning another language certainly increases her vocabulary of curse words.  
>Since she has no former voice actor from another continuity, I one day dream of voicing Ms. Carlo. Perhaps I'll do a reading from my story for you guys, when I have the money to afford a voice station….<p>

-Moonracer is Moonracer. She aspires to be somewhat like Mako Mori of _Pacific Rim _fame, a girl who can protect herself, the ones she loves, and does not try to improve herself simply to gain attention of a mech. She is, in my head, voiced by Andrea Libman, the voice of Pinkie Pie and Fluttershy.

-Botanica has a lot of interesting backstory, especially in_ Animated_. I would bring back Katherine Barr, her voice actor from _Beast Wars_ fame, but if Cree Summer would voice her, I would be ecstatic.

I am already compiling a Cast list for this story, and will post it up with a new chapter when I'm done. The Cast List will explain characters and their quirks better.

Welp, I think that covers everything. If you have any questions about anything, let me know! Questions, comments, reviews. Let's see what you all can offer me to help make the story better. :)

I will be back with more; promise!

(As soon as the Internet back home gets fixed. Something tells me Mom is not about to fix it soon. I can't keep going to the library and mooching off their Wi-Fi. They probably think I'm using their free Internet to view porn or something.)

~Ylysha


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